Cry Havoc
by SunnyFla
Summary: Wyndam stopped George, collected Annie, and made Mitchell his protege and attack dog. But what has Wyndam let loose? The sequel to Consequences. A/N: Thank you to all that have been so patient with the development of this story. The journey continues...
1. Chapter 1

**The being human universe belongs to the incomparable creativity of Toby Whithouse. Once again, just falling through the looking glass to play there for a bit...**

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><p><strong>Wyndam did stop George, and took Mitchell<strong>, **and those actions have impacted all. But what has Wyndam really let loose? **

**The sequel to Consequences...**

**Wyndam has...requested...I invite reviews and comments, as all are welcome and most appreciated.**

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><p>"Run!" Carl yelled, pushing Leigh behind and away from him, and not taking his eyes off the spot the voice came from. He heard her start to run, but she suddenly cried out. Spinning around, he saw Padraig with eyes solid shiny black, easily holding a struggling Leigh and pushing her head to one side, exposing her neck. Lawrence stood next to Padraig, blocking any escape. Carl looked back to where the voice had come from, steeling himself for who he knew he would see.<p>

"Hello, Carl." Mitchell smiled as he stepped from the shadows. "Peter sends his regards."

"Mitchell." Carl cleared his throat and forced his tone to be quiet and calm. "And is Peter...well?

"For now. He's on his way back to Bristol. Wyndam wants to see him." Mitchell smiled again. Carl didn't ask the next question, knowing there was no point. He straightened up and nodded at Mitchell.

"You've saved me a trip. I was just coming to find you."

"Really. How...interesting. Now why would you be looking for me?" Mitchell said, stopping in front of Carl.

"Let her go, and we'll go grab a drink and talk about it."

"We may just do that," Mitchell continued to smile. "But first, I need you to answer two questions. One, who is your still-alive-at-this-moment human friend? And two, where are Nina and George?"

oooooooooo

"Why do you want to know?" Carl asked.

"Really, Carl?" Mitchell countered, his tone patronizing.

"She has nothing to do with this. Let her go, and you and I can talk."

"But she is part of this. You saw to that, didn't you?" Mitchell taunted, using the same words Wyndam had spoken to him. He chuckled softly, then stepped around Carl and moved towards Leigh. Carl grabbed his arm and he stopped, looking down at Carl's hand. Slowly he raised his eyes, the smile gone, and Carl inhaled sharply.

"Mitchell! Your eyes! What's he done to you?"

Mitchell didn't answer and after long moments, Carl finally removed his hand and Mitchell continued walking toward Leigh. When Carl moved to follow, Lawrence stepped in front of him, stopping him.

Leigh was no longer struggling, and her eyes were wide as Mitchell walked toward her. Padraig had released her head, but still held onto her upper arms. She looked small against him. Mitchell stopped in front of her, and looked down at her, smiling. He could smell her fear, and inhaled deeply.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked nicely. Leigh's eyes darted to Carl, but Mitchell moved and blocked her view.

"No, don't look at Carl," he said softly, capturing her eyes with his. "Look at me. Just tell me your name. That's all." He continued to smile. She gave a slight shake of her head, but didn't look away from him.

"It's alright. Nothing's gonna happen to you. Just tell me your name. That's all," he told her, staring into her dark blue eyes. "It's alright, don't be afraid," he was still smiling. He saw her shoulders relax, and some of the tension leave her body. His smile deepened.

"What's your name?" he asked her again.

"Leigh," she whispered.

"Hello, Leigh. My name's Mitchell. You know what we are? What Carl is?" She nodded. Mitchell reached out to touch her shoulder-length blond hair, and she cringed as his hand came near her. He stopped for a moment, then slowly took a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers, all the while looking into her eyes.

"Good. You're friends with Carl, aren't you?"

"Mitchell, stop this!" Carl shouted.

"Lawrence," Mitchell said quietly, keeping his eyes on Leigh. Lawrence quickly closed the distance between himself and Carl and the warning clear: Don't interfere. Carl's hands clenched into fists at his side.

"So, tell me, Leigh," Mitchell continued softly, still holding her gaze with his own. "Were Nina and George here?" She slowly nodded again. "Good. And where did they go?" He saw her tense again, and Padraig tightened his grip on her. "It's alright, Páidí. Leigh's gonna tell me what I want to know. Aren't you, Leigh? I'm not gonna hurt you. Just tell me where they are and we'll leave. That's all." His voice took on a lilting cadence, soft and easy, his Irish pronounced. He saw her pupils flare, and he tried not to grin. _What was it about the accent?_ He could also see she was trying not to tell him, and he took a step closer to her.

"Mitchell, stop." Carl said it quietly. "I'll take you to them."

"I don't believe you, Carl," Mitchell answered in the same soft cadence, as though talking to a child. "I will believe Leigh, though. And she's gonna tell me, aren't you, darlin'?" He moved another inch closer to her and this time she didn't flinch. Her eyes were still wide, but he knew she wouldn't look away from him.

"Mitchell, please," Carl whispered. "Leave her alone. I'll help you. I swear it."

Mitchell didn't answer, still rubbing her hair between his fingers. He continued to hold her with his eyes, considering Carl's offer. The girl would tell him, eventually. Her heart was pounding and she was still trying to resist him, but she was becoming compliant. He could see it in the softening in her eyes. It just might take awhile, and he didn't want to waste time. He could always take her blood, weaken her to the point of telling him. He swallowed at the thought, and the smell of her blood ran through him. He shifted closer again, his eyes intense as they held hers.

"If you hurt her, you'll never find them," Carl warned. "I'm the only one that knows exactly where they've gone and how. She thinks she knows, but she doesn't. I lied to her, to protect her."

Mitchell focused on her heartbeat and what lay just under that throbbing point in her neck. He wasn't hungry and didn't need to feed, but it would feel good. It would also make a point to Carl. But Carl would do just that: lie to her to protect her. He had to admit that finding them would be easier with Carl's help. And he needed to find them, for Wyndam.

"Another time," he told her softly, slowly letting go of her hair. He raised his head, releasing her from his gaze, and she blinked several times as he stepped back from her.

"Where?" he said to Carl without looking back.

"Let her go."

Mitchell half turned and looked over his shoulder at Carl. He was no longer smiling.

"I won't ask again," he said. Taking a deep breath, Carl shook his head. Mitchell turned fully and faced Carl.

"Padraig," Mitchell said it quietly. Padraig's arm wrapped around Leigh's throat, his hand covering her mouth, and he again pulled her head to the side. Hissing and fangs showing, he slowly lowered his mouth toward her neck.

"No!" Carl yelled, jumping toward them, but Lawrence grabbed him, and then Padraig's teeth were at her throat. She was trying to scream, but Padraig's hand was covering her mouth.

"Okay! Okay. They've already gone. Airport. Ireland." Carl said it quickly. Padraig stopped but his teeth had broken the skin and droplets of blood were running down her neck. He licked at the blood and closed his eyes a moment, then raised his head, just a bit.

"See, now that wasn't too hard, was it?" Mitchell asked Carl.

"Let her go, Padraig," Carl said, eyes still on Mitchell. Padraig didn't move.

"Padraig, let's wait a bit," Mitchell finally said. Padraig hissed again, but raised his head away from Leigh's neck and retracted his fangs. His eyes remained solid black and he was breathing hard.

"Airline, names, where?" Mitchell asked, taking a few steps toward Carl.

"What about her?" Carl asked. Mitchell didn't answer, and waited for Carl to tell him what he wanted to know. Carl sighed heavily. "Why, Mitchell? They were your friends. They still are! You asked me to help them! Has Wyndam so brainwashed you?"

"I won't stop Padraig again," Mitchell told him. Carl clenched his jaw, and nodded, once.

"Ryanair. James and Elizabeth Thompson. Cork." Carl stared at Mitchell as he said it. Lawrence spoke into his mobile, telling someone to check the passenger list for the airline.

"Let me help you, Mitchell. Please. This is not you, it never was. What Wyndam has done to you is unforgivable. Let me help you," Carl said it softly, but Mitchell shook his head.

"Wyndam hasn't done anything except help me. He does, however, want to have a word with you," Mitchell smiled again.

"Then let's go somewhere and you can tell me about it. Just you and me. Let's go get a drink, we'll talk about this, and then if you still want to work for Wyndam, I'll leave you alone."

"I'd love to say yes to that," Mitchell told him.

"Great!" Carl said quickly. "Let Leigh go, and you and I will be on our way!"

"But the problem in getting a drink with you," Mitchell continued as though Carl hadn't spoken, "is that you mean a drink, not a **drink."** Smiling again. "Now, if you'd like to get a **real** drink, warm and salty and red, we'll go." Carl didn't answer, and Mitchell chuckled again. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"Flight's already left," Lawrence said, closing his mobile and looking at Mitchell, "but those names are on the passenger list, seats taken."

"Seems you're telling the truth, Carl," Mitchell said.

"I've never lied to you, in all the years I've known you. Can you say the same about Wyndam?"

Mitchell didn't answer, lost in thought.

"The jet will be ready again within the hour," Lawrence said. Mitchell looked at him and nodded, and Lawrence again opened his mobile.

"Now what?" Carl asked.

"Now, we bring them back," Mitchell told him. "They won't escape him. You do know that, don't you?"

"No one ever does," Carl said softly, his voice full of sadness.

"I know you don't understand this - yet," Mitchell told him. "But you will."

"No," Carl shook his head, "I'll never understand this," he gestured to Padraig holding Leigh.

"Have our people watch for them in Cork," Mitchell said to Lawrence. "Hold them until we get there. And check the airport here, and flights to London, Edinburgh, and all airports in Ireland. Just in case," Mitchell smiled again at Carl. Lawrence continued to speak into his mobile.

"What to do with you?" Mitchell mused, looking back at Leigh. Padraig was still holding onto her.

"Let her go, Mitchell," Carl told him. "If your people miss them at the airport, I'm the only one that can help you find them. You need me."

Mitchell turned back to Carl, wondering whether he could believe the words. Carl had never lied to him, but would he do it now to save a human? Probably.

"Here's what's going to happen," Mitchell said, walking closer to Carl. "Lawrence is going to have some of our people…escort…Leigh to Bristol, for her own safety. No," Mitchell held up a hand when Carl started to protest. "You come with us to pick up Nina and George, and then you return to Bristol, to Wyndam. Don't lie to me, don't cause problems, and when we get back to Bristol, she'll be released unharmed. Until then, she'll be under Wyndam's protection." Mitchell smiled again. "She can keep Peter's girlfriend company."

"Peter's girlf…you didn't! Tell me you didn't!" Carl took a step toward Mitchell.

"No, no, she's fine. For now. Wyndam will have Peter take care of her."

"Oh, Mitchell, how could you?"

"Back to your friend," Mitchell ignored Carl's question. "Give me your word, and we'll all be on our way."

"I see," Carl said. "And if I say no?"

"Well," Mitchell smiled, "then I guess Padraig finishes his snack."

"Don't, Carl!" Leigh yelled. Padraig clapped a hand over her mouth again. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she shook her head at Carl.

"The problem with your suggestion," Carl said evenly, "is that I don't trust Wyndam. You say she'll be released unharmed, but we both know Wyndam won't allow that. So I really don't think I can agree."

"You don't have a choice."

"Yes, I do. If you kill her now, or Wyndam does it later in Bristol, she still dies. You still turn me over to Wyndam. Either way, she and I both lose. So why should I agree to do anything?"

"Who said anything about killing her?" Mitchell said it softly and waited for Carl to understand. It didn't take long. Carl opened and closed his mouth, and narrowed his eyes at Mitchell.

"You wouldn't. Not even now, you wouldn't!" Carl said with disbelief. Mitchell didn't answer.

"You would recruit her?" Carl said through clenched teeth. Mitchell held his gaze and nodded.

"Damn you, Mitchell!" Carl's hands were clenched into fists and he was shaking. He took a step toward Mitchell, but Mitchell made no move, only watched him, wondering if he would really attack. Finally, Carl blew out a breath and turned, walking away from them all. Lawrence started to go after him, but Mitchell shook his head. Carl paced for several moments, and then stopped, remaining perfectly still with his head down. Finally, he raised his head and turned back to Mitchell.

"I don't trust Wyndam, at all. I'll trust you, though, if you give me your word," he told Mitchell. "I think some part of you is still in there. So I'll agree to this. Leigh stays here, in her own home, with one of yours. One that can be trusted. I'll go with you, and we'll find them. When we do, she's released. When I know she is safe, I'll go with you to Bristol and turn myself over to Wyndam."

Leigh squealed against Padraig's hand, and struggled against him, but Padraig held her tight. Her eyes were filled with tears.

"It's alright, Leigh," Carl told her, looking back to Mitchell. "I know what I'm doing. He knows if he hurts you or turns you, I'll never help him. He knows this is the only way." She squealed again, but stopped struggling.

"So, what do you say, Mitchell? I won't agree to anything else. Your way, she's already lost so I have no reason to agree. My way, you have my cooperation. I will trust **you,** and in the end, Wyndam wins. Again."

Mitchell was quiet for several moments, staring at Carl, considering the offer. Lawrence cleared his throat, loudly.

"Yes, Lawrence?" Mitchell asked.

"I don't believe Lord Wyndam would agree to such an arrangement."

"No, he probably wouldn't," Mitchell agreed. But Wyndam had made it clear that Mitchell was leading this mission, and his decisions were final, his orders to be followed. Mitchell looked over at Padraig, whose eyes were no longer solid black. Padraig nodded once, and Mitchell knew he'd support whatever decision was made. Lawrence's expression was, as always, unreadable. Finally, Mitchell took a breath and looked back at Carl.

"Alright. We'll try this your way. Leigh stays here, with Padraig, and you come with me. But if…"

"No," Carl interrupted.

"No?" Mitchell couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.

"No, not Padraig," Carl clarified. "He's tasted her. She won't be safe with him."

"He's bound to an Old One and under orders to do as I say. If I tell him to leave her alone, he will," Mitchell said evenly. Carl shook his head.

"Not Padraig. And not a new one. Someone old enough to be able to control themselves." Carl didn't blink as he looked at Mitchell. The silence stretched and neither of them would look away. Finally, a slow smile touched Mitchell's lips.

"Alright, Carl," he said quietly. "You wanna control the terms of this arrangement, you be willing to accept the consequences if you violate them." Carl frowned, and narrowed his eyes.

"If you lie to me," Mitchell said, "or deceive me, or try to help them, it will be you." He waited for Carl to understand.

"No!" Carl finally hissed.

"Yes!" Mitchell said loudly leaving no room for compromise. "You do anything but help me, you will be the one to turn her."

Carl didn't answer and his fingers curled into fists again.

"Well? What's it to be? Here, with a good chance of survival and an escape at the ready, or Bristol with little chance?"

"Who?" Carl asked through clenched teeth.

"Lawrence," Mitchell answered without hesitation, knowing Carl would accept. Carl's eyes darted to Lawrence.

"Whose is he now?"

"Wyndam's. For this assignment, mine."

"No," Carl shook his head. "If he's still Wyndam's, I won't trust him."

"Lawrence?" Mitchell didn't need to elaborate.

"Mitchell is the final say in this," Lawrence told Carl. "Even though I disagree with him, it is his decision to make, and I have been instructed to follow his orders. I will abide by whatever he promises you."

Carl looked at Leigh and the fear still showing on her face. She was shaking her head, eyes wide and filled with tears.

"It's either Lawrence, or Bristol," Mitchell said quietly. "If I have to decide for you, she won't like it."

"I will hold you responsible if anything happens to her," Carl told Mitchell.

"Fair enough."

"Agreed, Lawrence, here," Carl said quickly to Mitchell, holding out a hand. Mitchell shook it and smiled.

Looking away, Mitchell glanced at Lawrence and his smile faded as he wondered if Lawrence was right. Would Wyndam completely disapprove? He'd not heard Wyndam in his mind since leaving Barry. He might very well be making a mistake in doing this. He did, however, think Carl was the best way to find Nina, and this way, he'd have some leverage over Carl. If need be, Wyndam could always change his instructions to Lawrence and alter the arrangement. At that thought, Mitchell felt the soft brushing of approval in his mind, and he relaxed, smiling again.

"Good. Time to go. Lawrence, take Leigh inside," Mitchell said, turning to Leigh and grinning. "I look forward to seeing you again, Leigh."

Carl started toward her, and Padraig let her go. She ran to Carl and threw her arms around him. Mitchell chuckled softly when he saw Carl hold his breath against the smell of the blood on her neck.

"Are you all right?" Carl asked her, hugging her tightly.

"Yes, I'm fine, but please don't do this!" she told him.

"It'll be okay, don't worry. You'll be free of him soon, I promise," he whispered to her. "Remember what we talked about. Always wear it. Don't take it off, for any reason. I'll find a way to get you out of this. I promise." She nodded into his shoulder, tears running down her cheeks.

"Leigh, invite Lawrence inside," Mitchell reminded her. "Now, please."

Carl pushed back from her and wiped the tears from her cheeks. He nodded and smiled at her. Her lips quivered but she didn't smile.

"Lawr…" she cleared her throat. "Lawrence, I give you, and only you, permission to enter my home." She whispered it, but it was enough. Carl took her by the arm to walk her into the house.

"No, Carl," Mitchell told him.

"I need to collect my things."

"She can bring them out to you."

Leigh started to protest, but Carl shushed her and asked her to get his bag. She went into the house, and Lawrence followed her. She returned shortly, but it was Lawrence who held the bag in his hand, and with a look at Mitchell, he gave it to Carl.

"Nothing," Lawrence told Mitchell, indicating he had searched the bag. Carl just shook his head.

"Leigh," Mitchell said softly. "Please don't give Lawrence any trouble. Carl will be safe, as long as you behave yourself."

"Shut up, Mitchell!" Carl hissed.

"She needs to know she has a responsibility in this, too," Mitchell told him.

"Don't worry, Carl," Leigh said loudly. "Obviously, I'm very dangerous and Mitchell doesn't think Lawrence can keep one small, human woman prisoner inside her own home."

Her sarcasm made Mitchell laugh, and he walked over to her, again stepping in close and looking down at her.

"I like you," he told her softly, again picking up a piece of her hair. She didn't flinch, and he saw the defiance in her eyes. He liked her eyes, the deep blue of them, and imagined watching them as he took his time with her. "I'll look forward to seeing you again," he whispered, his grin anything but nice.

"Leave her alone, Mitchell," Carl growled. "If you've finished threatening, let's go."

Mitchell chuckled, and finally let go of Leigh's hair. He looked back at Lawrence and motioned with his head for Lawrence to step off to the side.

"Be careful," Mitchell warned Lawrence, speaking quietly. "Carl will have taught her what to do to protect herself. Watch for the religious shit, and there's probably several stakes in every room."

"Are you sure about this?" Lawrence asked.

"Yeah, Wyndam's cool with it. Carl is smart, and he'll have sorted some way so we can't find them. I expect him to still try to throw us off track, but now he'll think twice about seriously lying. For some reason, she's important to him. Find out who she is. And find out what she knows and what he told her."

"Be careful. I don't trust him, this was too easy."

"I'll check in later." Mitchell turned and brushed past Carl, heading for the road where their car and driver waited. He didn't look at or speak to Carl. Carl sighed and followed him, Padraig not far behind.

ooooooooo


	2. Chapter 2

**One of the Consequences of Wyndam stopping George, and taking Mitchell, was that Wyndam also collected Annie and took her to Bristol. **

**So as asked once before: what about Annie?**

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><p>"Hello, Annie," Wyndam said as Samuel brought Annie into the office. Once she was inside, Samuel left, closing the door behind him. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long." Wyndam was sitting behind a large desk, looking at a computer monitor. He didn't look at her as he spoke. Whatever was on the screen made him smile, that smile she'd seen in the house, and a moment later, he pushed a key on the keyboard and stood up.<p>

Annie didn't answer him. She and Samuel had arrived in Bristol early this morning and she'd been taken to a room and ordered to stay there. No matter what she'd tried, she was unable to leave the room. She had pounded on the door, hollered and screamed, tried to break the door down, shouted and screamed some more, but to no result. No one came, and she couldn't get out. She'd finally sunk to the floor in the corner, refusing to sit in the oversized chair placed in the middle of the room. As much as she'd felt like crying, she didn't. She wouldn't give **him** the satisfaction. She wished repeatedly Mitchell was with her, and she wondered how Nina and George were doing.

She hadn't seen anyone until Samuel came to get her a few minutes ago. She'd demanded to see Mitchell, or to talk to him, but Samuel had not answered her. He didn't say anything other than Wyndam wanted to see her in his office.

As she was ushered into the large office, she looked at the large window panes behind Wyndam's desk. The blue drapes were open and she could see that it was dark outside. She had no idea what time it was, but she'd been locked in that room all day, and her frustration and anger were still growing.

Wyndam finally looked at her, stood up, and came toward her. He was smiling at her. She didn't like it. He put a hand lightly on her back and motioned for her to sit in the chair across from his desk. Annie stepped away from him and didn't sit down. No matter how neat his black suit, he was still a monster.

"You may as well let me go," she said, raising her chin. "I'll never help you."

"Well, why don't we leave that conversation for another day," he smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Please, sit down." Annie still didn't do so. "Do you really want me to order you to sit? I don't think you'd like that, and we have much to discuss." Wyndam waited, but Annie still didn't answer him. He finally sighed and the smile left his face. "Have it your way. Annie, sit."

Just as in the house, Annie felt herself unable to control her own body and she moved to the chair and sat down. She refused to cry and instead, added the frustration to her anger.

"That's better," his quick smile was condescending. "Now, let's talk about what you're going to do with your powers." He walked around the desk and sat back in the large leather chair.

"That would be nothing."

"We both know that's not the case. So the question for you, Annie, is this: who will pay for your stubbornness?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Are you willing to let someone die because you won't use your power?"

"If it's you? Yes. Any other questions?" She sounded braver than she felt. Wyndam laughed and put his hands together, fingers intertwined.

"Oh, you are going to be entertaining! No, not me, regardless of how much you wish it." He chuckled and then suddenly the smile and laughter were gone. "How many humans are you willing to kill because you won't use your power?"

"I'm not killing anyone! Except maybe…" _you!_ she implied with her silence and her glare.

"If you won't use your power," he ignored her unfinished threat, "then humans will die when you could have saved them. That's the same as you killing them."

"What are you talking about?" Annie was getting that sickening knotty feeling in her stomach, the one she used to get when Owen was upset.

"You can control werewolves. If you refuse to do so, then their human victims will die. So that's my question. How many humans are you willing to kill because you refuse to use your power?"

Annie sucked in her breath, horrified at the suggestion.

"The full moon is soon. Shall we test your stubbornness? I do have a werewolf downstairs, although he's not too happy to be here. You know him, so perhaps seeing you will make him feel better." That smile again.

The knot in Annie's stomach tightened and she wrapped her arms around her middle. She knew about the fighting cages, and how the vampires would lock a human in with the werewolf, and bet on who would survive. But if he had a werewolf…that she knew…and George and Nina had gotten away...her eyes widened as the thought came to her, and she shook her head.

"No," she whispered, fear taking hold of her.

"Yes. Did I mention that Tom is still alive?"

oooooooooo

"Tom is alive?" Annie whispered. Wyndam nodded. "Where? Where is he? I want to see him!" she tried to stand up, but couldn't. Wyndam had ordered her to sit down.

"Perhaps next time you'll reconsider when I **ask**," Wyndam smiled at her. Annie took a deep breath and clenched her teeth, but didn't say anything.

"So, back to my question. What are you willing to do, Annie?"

"I want to see Tom. Now."

"Not yet. Soon. Maybe." That smile again. "What are you willing to do?"

"Until I see Tom? Nothing." Annie pursed her lips and raised her chin, defiance in her eyes.

"Well, then, I think we're finished for today." Wyndam stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. "You may get up. Samuel will return you to your room."

"No!" Annie shouted, jumping up. Wyndam raised his eyebrows at her. She took another breath and her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

"No. I want to see Tom," she said again, lowering her voice. Wyndam didn't answer her, and after a moment, raised his eyebrows at her.

"Please." She said it quietly, hating that she had to ask.

"Why should I allow it?" Wyndam asked her. "You won't even answer a simple question for me." She didn't respond, and again, Wyndam didn't say anything more. She was determined not to answer any questions for him, but she needed to see Tom. Back at the house, Mitchell had bargained with Wyndam. Perhaps she could too.

"Let me see Tom," she countered, "see that he's all right, and I'll think about your question." Even though she was trying to gain something she wanted, it was all she could do to keep from screaming. She wondered if this is how Mitchell felt, bargaining with this monster. Wyndam looked at her for several moments, and she had to use all her self-control not to look away from the ice blue eyes and the penetrating stare.

"Let's do this," he finally said. "You return to your room, and tomorrow, we'll talk again. After that, perhaps you may see Tom." Annie was shaking her head before he finished speaking, but the office door opened and Samuel entered.

"No!" Annie said loudly. "I need to see that Tom is all right!" Wyndam again raised his eyebrows at her, but she wouldn't look away from him.

"Samuel, tell Annie how Tom is," Wyndam finally said.

"He's sedated, still under the doctor's care, but should be recovered in a few days," Samuel reported.

"I still want to see him," Annie remained firm.

"Yes, I'm sure you do, but not tonight," Wyndam was no longer smiling.

"Then I'll find him myself," Annie threatened.

"No, you won't. You still don't know the rules, Annie. There are several for you. Perhaps we should go over them now."

"I don't care about your rules, or what you want." She could no longer control her anger and frustration. "Either I see Tom, or I will tear this building down to find him!" she shouted. So much for negotiating.

"You want to see Tom," Wyndam laughed, "but you threaten me? Oh Annie, you're not very good at this, are you? Tell you what, I'll let you see him, see for yourself that he's being taken care of, and then we'll go over some of the rules for you. How about that?" She didn't answer him, not sure what to do.

"I won't make the offer again," he said it softly but she knew he meant it. She gave him a quick nod, agreeing, and turned toward the door.

"No," he told her, "not that way."

She whirled back to him, ready to rant at his lying to her. Suddenly, Wyndam turned back to his desk and twisted the computer monitor so that it was facing Annie. He leaned over the desk and punched a key on the keyboard, and an image opened on the screen.

"Have a look," he told her, gesturing toward the monitor.

Annie cautiously stepped toward the desk, watching Wyndam, until she was in front of the screen. Looking down at it, she saw the inside of a nearly empty room. It had a table and chair in it, and a bed. She could see there were a few things on the table, but she didn't look at them. She was looking at the bed, and the person lying on it. As she peered closer to the screen, the camera angle zoomed in, and she gasped, her hand covering her mouth. It was Tom. There was a white bandage wrapped around his head and she could see the blood stains seeping through it on the right side of his forehead. His face was bruised and his right eye was very swollen. Bandages were wrapped around his left arm and the arm was held in a sling across his body. His jeans and gray tee shirt were ripped and torn, and his shoes were missing. He was very pale and there was a sheen of sweat on his face, but he was breathing.

"Oh, my God! What did you do to him?" she demanded, straightening and fixing Wyndam with an accusing stare.

"I did nothing to him," Wyndam told her. "He was injured while helping Nina escape. He's lucky Samuel was there, otherwise he'd be dead. But he's on the mend, and should be sufficiently recovered in time for the full moon."

"Take me to him," Annie demanded. Wyndam shook his head.

"You asked to see him. You have."

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"But that's what you asked for. And I gave it to you. Now you will give me something." When he didn't continue, she glared at him. "Your attention to the rules," he finished.

Annie looked back at the computer screen, and tried to get a fix on where the cage might be. Wyndam had said downstairs, but they were on the sixth floor so that could be anywhere. She could assume it was in the cellar, or some lower level. If she could get enough of a fix on it, she could rent-a-ghost to Tom.

"Rule number one. No rent-a-ghosting," Wyndam said, "unless I allow it."

Her eyes snapped to him and she wonder how he knew what she was thinking. He smiled again, and walked around the desk and sat down in his chair. He left the monitor turned toward Annie.

"Rule number two," he began, but Annie shook her head.

"Let me talk to him," she said quietly.

"No. Rule number two," Wyndam continued. "You may go anywhere you wish in this building with the following exceptions: that room, that floor or anywhere near Tom," he smiled at her. "This office, and the seventh floor. You will not go to or enter any of these locations without my direct permission, or authorization from Samuel. Do you understand?"

Annie didn't answer him, and instead continued to watch Tom.

"Annie, do you understand?"

She heard the sharp edge to his voice.

"Why? Why not those places?" she asked, stalling for time while she tried to figure out where Tom was. The lift she'd come up in had buttons for seven floors. Her room was on the fifth, and this was on the sixth. So that left one through four, and seven. Plus any cellar or lower floor that wasn't accessed by the lift she came up on. The way Wyndam added the seventh floor to the list made her think Tom was on a lower floor.

"Because I say so," was the soft response.

She looked at him and saw the ice and hardness and threat in his eyes, and the knot in her stomach tightened again. Suddenly it felt as though the floor tilted and she staggered, grabbing onto the desk to keep from falling. She could feel his anger flooding through her, overpowering her and flashing through her entire being. Unable to control it, fear took hold of her and she started to shake. She had no idea how to stop the feelings or how to regain control of her own emotions. It was as though his anger had taken hold of her. She couldn't stand against the onslaught, and sank weakly into the chair. Somehow, he was causing her to feel like this. Mitchell had told her not to make Wyndam angry, and she was starting to understand why. Hands clutching the arms of the chair, she gave him a slight nod that she understood this rule.

"Good," he smiled, and she felt his anger and threat subside as suddenly as it appeared.

_How did he do that? Go from so intense to calm in less than a heartbeat?_ She had no idea, but needed to find out. Or at least find a way to not be thrown by it. She couldn't let these sudden and intense changes in him keep her unnerved. She had to admit, though, it was effective. She also knew that one way or another, he would keep her away from those locations on his list, and she reminded herself to be better at picking and choosing her battles. She knew there would be many to come. Of course, she had no intention of obeying any 'rules' he tried to foist on her. She'd just go along for now, until she could find a way out of here.

"Now, let's continue, shall we?" He said it nicely, but Annie knew it was anything but nice. Taking a deep unnecessary breath, she straightened her shoulders and waited.

"Three," his smile deepened and she could see he was amused. "You will not poltergeist objects, interfere with electronics, or in any way disrupt the activities in this building. Four, you will not attack anyone in this building, at any time. Unless I order it." He smiled at her again, That Smile, and she felt her stomach roil and lurch.

"Five, you will not leave this building unless instructed to do so. Six, if Samuel tells you to do something, or not to do something, you will abide by it. He is the equivalent of my voice and you will follow his instructions."

She glanced at Samuel, still standing by the door, and saw the small, satisfied smile touch the corners of his lips. She was really beginning to hate him.

"Seven," he said softly, and she turned her attention back to him. "Listen carefully, Annie. You will not use any of your powers unless I allow it." He said it slowly, fixing her with his stare. It took her a moment, but then she understood what this meant, and her eyes widened. "Yes," he nodded. "Only when I allow it. Do you understand?"

She didn't answer him, and tried to hold his gaze. She saw the ice blue eyes harden at her silence, and intensity of his gaze increased. She felt the anger start to slowly push toward her again until it was too much and she had to look away. She felt as though he'd physically struck her. Without looking at him again, she nodded ever so slightly.

"Good. While there are other rules for you, I think that's enough for today, don't you?" he was smiling again.

"I ha…." Annie cleared her throat. "I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Where is Rose?"

"She's here."

"I want to…may I see her?" She hated asking, but again knew it was a battle not worth fighting.

"Why?"

"Mitchell said she might be able to explain some of this to me." Her voice was shaking and she did nothing to stop it. "It's...overwhelming," she whispered, intentionally.

"Yes, I know it is." He didn't answer her question for several moments, and continued to stare at her. She tried to keep her expression innocent, and focused on just what she'd told him – that Rose would be able to help her understand all this. Finally, Wyndam nodded.

"Yes. You may see her. Since you asked so nicely," said with that smile again. "Samuel, Annie may see Rose. Tomorrow. Instruct Rose to help Annie with the rules."

At that, he turned the computer monitor back towards him. Picking up a file sitting on the desk, he began flipping through the papers in it. Annie didn't know what to do, so she stayed where she was. Suddenly, he looked up at her and she had the impression that he just remembered she was there.

"That's all, Annie. Run along," he waved a hand at her, dismissing her. She stood up and moved to the door where Samuel was waiting.

"Annie?" Wyndam called after her. She turned to face him, but he was still looking at the file in his hand. "Tomorrow, we'll begin working on your power over werewolves." She started to respond but he spun his chair around to face the window, continuing to read through the file in his hand.

Clamping her lips together, Annie turned and walked past Samuel to the door. She heard Samuel chuckle softly, but ignored him. She focused on to the two things she'd gotten out of this meeting. Tom was alive and in the same building, and she could talk to Rose. Mitchell had told her to find Rose, and now she had. Not only would she see Rose, she'd be able to talk to her. She didn't know what good it would do, but it was more than she had this morning. With a slight satisfied smile, she left Wyndam's office, an idea starting to tickle in her mind.

ooooooooo


	3. Chapter 3

_Running won't help..._

* * *

><p>It was the quiet of it that unnerved Carl. Mitchell had told him to shut up. Quietly. On the drive to the airport, he'd tried to talk to Mitchell about Wyndam, then about George, then about what was happening. Each time, Mitchell had told him to shut up. Quietly. There was no anger, no annoyance, no frustration. Just quiet control. All three times. The pre-Wyndam Mitchell would have yelled at him to shut it. The fourth time, when he tried to tell Mitchell what being bound to Wyndam really meant, Mitchell didn't say anything and just stared out the window into the blackness. With a heavy sigh, he stopped trying to pull Mitchell into a conversation and didn't say anything more.<p>

The driver didn't take them to the main terminal, but rather drove them to one of the private hangers. A black Cessna jet was sitting inside the hanger. The driver dropped the three of them outside the hanger, and they walked toward the plane.

"Wyndam give you a reward for letting him put a lead on you?" Carl asked sarcastically

"Funny," Mitchell told him, walking up the few steps into the jet. "Would you rather be chained up in the hull of a ship? Could be arranged." Carl didn't answer, knowing Mitchell was serious.

"What about security, and customs?" Carl asked as walked up the few steps, noticing the small but noticeable flourished silver W on the side of the plane. _What else would there be?_ Carl kept the sarcastic thought to himself.

"You really have no idea of Wyndam's power, do you? You'll learn," Mitchell told him. "Mark," Mitchell nodded a greeting at the vampire waiting for them on the plane.

"We're ready to go whenever you say," Mark told him.

"Now," Mitchell instructed. Mark nodded and informed the pilot they were ready to go.

There were four plush black leather seats, one behind the other, on the right side of the plane. Mitchell motioned and Carl took the second seat. Mitchell took the first seat, and Padraig sat behind Carl. Looking down at the armrests of his seat, Carl saw that the seat had its own radio, telephone, and several control buttons. A small video screen faced him from the seatback in front of him. On the left side of the plane, there were two similar chairs facing each other, and an L-shaped black leather sofa behind them.

_Of course,_ Carl thought to himself_. Continue the brainwashing, seduce with wealth._ Although Mitchell had never really cared about material things in the past, Carl wondered how much impact this was having on him now. Wyndam was an expert at using his wealth to charm and control. Carl should know, he'd almost fallen for it himself.

Carl watched as Mark pulled the plane's steps in, locked the door, and took his seat near the door. There was no announcement, just the sound of the engines ramping up and the feel of the plane moving as it rolled out of the hanger.

They were soon airborne, and leveled off. Mark went into the cockpit, then came out and stepped into the small galley across from the plane's door, and Carl heard the clink of dishes, and something start to run. A moment later, he smelled coffee.

Mitchell stood up and walked back to face Carl, leaning against the seat across from Carl.

"So what was the plan?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"What, no cocktails?" Carl asked sarcastically, but Mitchell ignored the question. "How about a cup of that coffee?" Mitchell still didn't answer, and Carl sighed. "Cork, then rail to Dublin. After that, I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"It was up to George after that. Wherever they wanted to go."

"Carl," Mitchell's smile was cold, "don't lie to me. Not so soon."

"I'm not lying. I didn't want to know, for this very reason. In case you've forgotten, you asked me to help you, to help them. And, as you so nicely reminded me, Wyndam has been looking for me. We both knew this could happen. I just never thought it'd be you." Carl kept his voice even but looked pointedly at Mitchell. "Is this really how you're going to repay me? By turning me over to him? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You really wanna talk about this now? Alright, we'll talk about it." Mitchell slid down into the seat across from Carl, and swiveled the chair to face Carl. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

"Wyndam offered you an incredible opportunity, and you spit in his face. Not smart, Carl. Very bad politics."

"Not interested in politics. More than that, I'm not interested in being a mindless pet." Carl looked Mitchell in the eye. "I never thought you'd roll over and let him put a collar on you."

"No collar, just the opposite. I've never felt so right. Everything else was a struggle, always off. Now I know where I belong and why. It's…liberating."

"That's crap and you know it! Herrick tried to force feed you that for decades and you never swallowed it. Now, a month with Wyndam and you're 'liberating' yourself? How many humans did you kill to do that?" Carl said it and waited for the anger he expected from Mitchell.

"Doesn't matter. They're only food," Mitchell said softly. "We, our species, that's what matters." Again, only quiet.

"You don't believe that. That's Wyndam talking, not you."

"Yes, I do believe it. Finally. Finally, there is no guilt, no regret, no agonizing. There is just the power and the life that comes with it. The way it's supposed to be."

"That's bullshit. You spent fifty years agonizing over every kill. You were the one who begged me to help him go clean. You fought with everything you had for six months, tied to a chair, to go clean. You don't just shut that off!"

"That was always the lie. Now, I don't have to lie to myself anymore."

"And George? Was your friendship with him a lie?" Carl asked it softly, watching Mitchell's reaction. He saw Mitchell's eyes flicker away for a fraction of a moment, but then snap back as Mitchell's mouth tightened. Finally, something other than quiet.

"Just a game, another attempt at being something I'm not."

"Where does he figure in all this? Are you going to kill him, too?"

"No," Mitchell shook his head. "Wyndam wants to see what their child is. After that, they'll be let go. If Wyndam thinks it best."

"Listen to yourself! You're spewing the crap Wyndam has fed you as gospel, and now you think he's God!"

"No, not God," Mitchell smiled. "Wyndam's not that much of a bastard. And he's my family now."

"He told you that?" Carl asked sharply, eyes narrowing.

"He offered his family to me, to be part of it. I accepted."

"You've no idea what you've accepted," Carl shook his head, his eyes softening. "Has he told you how you can die for him? If someone else attacks him, you die? That he can kill you with just a thought? Did you agree to that?"

"Yes. Actually, I got a firsthand lesson," Mitchell chuckled. Carl frowned in confusion, and Mitchell smiled. "Annie decided to try to kill Wyndam. Didn't quite work, but I will say, it hurt like hell!" he rubbed his hand across his chest.

"And what about Annie? Where is she?" Carl asked it softly, afraid of the answer.

"With Wyndam." Mitchell's lack of emotion was not lost on Carl. "He's helping her develop her powers, especially the one she has over werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Carl asked. This was new. "What power over werewolves?"

Padraig cleared his throat, but didn't say anything.

"I think we've gotten a bit off topic," Mitchell said. "Let's get back to George and Nina, shall we? Who's helping them in Cork, and in Dublin?"

"I don't know."

"Carl," he shook his head, "you really don't wanna have a go with me, not now. So tell me. The truth. Who are they meeting?"

"I honestly don't know," Carl told him. "I told you, I didn't want to know. I set it up via messages on a throw-away mobile. I have no idea who I was talking to."

Mitchell chuckled and stood up. He turned toward Padraig who was now holding a mobile in his hand. Mitchell didn't speak and was still smiling as he suddenly turned and backhanded Carl across the mouth, sending him thudding into the wall. Putting one hand on the back of Carl's seat and the other on the seat in front, Mitchell leaned over Carl.

"You tell me now, or Padraig calls Lawrence and she leaves for Bristol," Mitchell hissed.

Carl struggled to sit up, blood running from the corner of his mouth, and nodded weakly. Peter had been right. Mitchell was strong.

"I don't know a name," Carl said quietly. "I know it's a man, and he's meeting them at the airport."

"How will they know it's him?"

"Brazil. He'll be wearing a shirt that says Brazil. That's it, that's all I know about him." Carl returned Mitchell's intense gaze and wouldn't look away from the blue eyes now full of anger. He didn't know which was worse: the quiet, or this sudden white hot anger. Neither were the Mitchell he knew. A shiver ran up his neck as he began to doubt whether the Mitchell he knew was still in there somewhere.

"Brazil. Cute." Just as suddenly, Mitchell smiled and straightened up. Padraig spoke into the mobile, telling someone what to look for.

"I really hope you don't lie to me again, Carl. If you do, Leigh won't like the attention I give her." The smile became a grin. "Before you turn her."

"I didn't lie to you." Carl wiped the blood from his mouth. "I told you I didn't know who was meeting them, and that's the truth."

"You think you can _Real Hustle _me? Don't. You won't win."

"What did he do to you?" Carl whispered. "You were never like this, not even…" Carl's voice trailed off at the look on Mitchell's face.

"What? Not even when I was playing in Europe, bored to death by Herrick's lame attempts at being vampire?" Mitchell scoffed. "Herrick was a weakling and had no idea what it means to be vampire. Killing him was the best thing I ever did."

Carl lowered his eyes, unable to look at the face of his friend, a face now devoid of compassion and humanity. He heard Mitchell laugh softly and return to his seat in front.

"Like I said, you don't get this now," Mitchell said quietly, "but you will. Wyndam will see to that."

Carl didn't answer him, unable to find his voice after such coldness from his friend. Finally, a few moments later, Carl stood up and removed his jacket. As he stepped into the aisle, Padraig stood up.

"Relax, Padraig," Carl told him. "Just using the loo." Carl started to walk past him but Padraig put out an arm.

"Give Páidí your mobile," Mitchell said without turning around.

"Seriously, Mitchell?" Carl asked with disbelief, but Mitchell didn't answer. With an annoyed sigh, Carl fished the mobile out of his pocket and slapped it into Padraig's hand. Padraig smiled and stepped aside, and Carl went into the toilet, slamming the door shut to the sound of Mitchell's soft laugh.

Carl splashed water on his face and wiped away the blood, trying to compose himself and figure out what to do next. Now that he'd seen Mitchell, all of Peter's warnings made sense. It appeared Mitchell was well and properly bound to Wyndam. Between the addictive sensations in Wyndam's blood and the access to the mind that it provided, Mitchell's surrender was not really a surprise. It was heartbreaking, but not surprising. Carl had hoped Mitchell would be strong enough to figure out a way to save some part of himself, but maybe not. Maybe Wyndam had taken so much time with him for that very reason, to make sure Mitchell couldn't hide anything.

_Maybe he was truly lost. _Carl lowered his head at the thought, then reminded himself that Mitchell had fought Wyndam for a month. Rumors were that Padraig had lasted two weeks against Thomas, and that made Páidí a legend. But Mitchell had resisted Wyndam for a month – how the hell he'd done it, Carl didn't know, especially knowing, first hand, the power in Wyndam's blood and how irresistible and addictive it was. The fact that Mitchell had fought for so long only made it more plausible that something of Mitchell still remained.

_All I have to do is find any part of him. That's all,_ he reminded himself. _Just one tiny part. Please let him still be in there_, he silently prayed. He closed his eyes, and his hands started to shake as he remembered how close he'd come to being owned by Wyndam.

* * *

><p><em>Nottingham, July, 1901<em>

"Are you two enjoying yourselves?"

Startled, Carl raised his head from the wrist of the human woman, his eyes solid black, a drop of blood falling from his mouth. He let go of her wrist and quickly stood up from the sofa, but had to catch himself, the brandy and blood drunk sending him off balance. The woman didn't move, unconscious from the blood loss. She was close to death but he was taking his time with her. Although he'd been at Wyndam's manor house for several days now, this was only the second time he'd seen Wyndam. In his lifetime, he'd only met Wyndam one other time, and that was decades ago, shortly after he was recruited.

He still had no idea why he'd been invited, only knew that he was one of several vampires that had received an invitation – they'd all met the first night almost a week ago, right here in the drawing room. Most of the others had already been dismissed and sent on their way, but he'd been asked to stay. As had Stephen. He didn't know why, and it would be rude to ask, so instead, he was enjoying all the luxuries of the manor and having every whim catered to. Since his arrival, any small thing that he mentioned was immediately provided. That unnerved him a bit so he was now careful not to mention too much. It was all new and exciting and more than a little overwhelming.

Still sitting on the loveseat, his mouth covered with blood, Stephen grinned and answered for them both, babbling about how much they were enjoying themselves. Wyndam didn't look at him, and instead, kept his eyes on Carl.

"That's nice, Stephen," Wyndam said, and Carl heard the dismissal. "Please, continue to enjoy. If you'd like more, just let Samuel know."

"Thank you, sir," Stephen said, hungrily looking back to the unconscious woman draped over his lap.

"Carl, come walk with me," Wyndam said, motioning to the gardens outside.

"Of course," Carl said, following him out the side door and into the finely manicured gardens. It was late, after midnight, and the summer air was still warm. Carl took a deep breath, trying to calm the blood drunk traveling through him. The aroma of roses and the hint of jasmine filled him, and added to the giddiness he was feeling. It was sweet and intoxicating as it mixed with the taste of the blood.

"So tell me, honestly, are you enjoying yourself?" Wyndam asked again, this time with a smile.

"Yes, sir, very much. Thank you again for the invitation." Carl tried not to slur his words.

"My pleasure," Wyndam smiled. "You've been vampire how long now?"

"Ahh, a hundred thirteen years."

"You're a very good vampire, did you know that?"

"I, ah, I…" Carl stuttered, not sure what to say.

"Do you ever want more, Carl?"

"I'm not sure I follow, sir," Carl said hesitantly.

"You've established yourself, and quietly built a reputation of being an efficient, but controlled, killer. You're not sloppy or overindulgent. You're really quite elegant," Wyndam smiled. "You've also taken advantage of your long life, learning and developing various talents – I understand you like to play the piano?"

"Yes, sir. It seemed a waste not to take advantage of what this life can offer, to enjoy all that I could, so I..." Carl stopped, not sure if he was saying something inappropriate.

"No, no," Wyndam smiled, "you were right. You should. This gift can provide many opportunities, and you should take advantage of them, as well as everything our kind can offer you. That's part of why we're here, to make the most of ourselves and our species, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, yes I would."

"Good. I like to see young vampires taking initiative, working to improve themselves and advance our kind. I've been pleased with what you've done in that regard."

"Ah, thank you, sir…I didn't know…I mean, it's very flattering that you've…" Again, he wasn't sure what to say without sounding egotistical.

"It's alright, Carl!" Wyndam laughed. "Don't be nervous. I'm just letting you know that I approve of what you've been doing, that you're what I look for in a vampire."

Carl laughed, still a bit nervous, and not at all sure what Wyndam was getting at. Wyndam was, in effect, his king, and he didn't know what to say without offending. He didn't answer, and they strolled along the garden path for several moments in silence.

"I look for those that can better our species," Wyndam continued, "that can help **me** help our species. Would you like to do that?" Wyndam looked at him with a sideways glance.

"Of course," Carl answered immediately.

"Good, good. Have you met Lawrence yet?"

"Ah, no, sir, I haven't. But I've heard a lot about him, and look forward to it."

"Yes, you'll meet him soon, and I think you'll get along. Lawrence was like you, interested in being better with each passing day, learning everything he could, improving himself and our kind. That's part of what brought him into my family."

"Your family?"

"Yes. I offered him a place in my family, to be part of my world, to help me. He graciously accepted, and has been invaluable to me ever since."

"I didn't know that." Carl still didn't know where Wyndam was going with this, but knew Wyndam was making a point. Wyndam stopped and turned to Carl. Looking up, Carl saw they were back at the manor house, on the terrace outside Wyndam's office.

"I'd like to offer you that same opportunity, Carl. The opportunity to become part of my family, to better our kind. To help me lead us through this new century, and beyond."

"I, ah, I don't know what to say, sir," Carl was flabbergasted. He was overwhelmed that Wyndam had taken an interest in him, let alone was offering him something.

"Sit down," Wyndam gestured to the marble bench on the terrace and they both sat. "I don't make this offer lightly, Carl. Lawrence is the only other I've offered it to in over a quarter century."

"Again, I don't know what to say," Carl answered, still not quite sure what was being offered to him, and whether it was really an offer. An Old One asked something of you, you did it whether you wanted to or not.

"Well, say yes!" Wyndam laughed. "My offer comes with many benefits, Carl. Strength, power, position, all your wants and needs provided for, and the potential to one day help me lead our people."

Carl blew out his breath and ran his hand through his hair. It was overwhelming.

"I offer you my blood, and my protection. I would make you my protégé and a member of my family, like Lawrence. But this comes with great responsibility for you." Wyndam paused and Carl looked at him, unable to fathom what Wyndam was trying to tell him. "You will be bound to me, to assist me however I need, to be my eyes and ears and hands wherever you go. Like Lawrence, you become me when you're out in the world. And through you, I know what needs to be done."

Carl didn't answer for several moments, digesting this information. He didn't know what being bound to Wyndam meant. He'd not heard of it before.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be dense, but it's just…I don't understand what being bound..." Carl paused seeing the tightening around Wyndam's eyes. "It's just so..."

"A bit overwhelming, isn't it?" Wyndam smiled again. Carl nodded shakily, a half smile on his lips. "Perhaps you'd like a small sample of what this would mean?"

"Is that possible?" Carl asked.

"Everything is possible, Carl!" Wyndam laughed. "That's the point." Carl tried to laugh with him, but only managed a short bark.

"Give me your wrist," Wyndam said, holding out his hand. Carl looked at him with confusion, not understanding. "Your wrist, give it to me," he repeated.

Carl put out his left arm and turned his wrist upward. Wyndam took it and raised it to his mouth while keeping his eyes on Carl. Wyndam's eyes flashed black, and he bit into Carl's wrist. Carl sucked in his breath at the sharp stab of pain, but didn't pull away. Wyndam started to drink, continuing to watch Carl, and Carl felt the gentle pull at his wrist. A light swirling started to run through his mind and then flood down and through his body. He felt very light, as though he had no weight and was floating upward and off the bench. He felt himself rise above his body, and be carried high above the garden and into the blackness broken only by the stars. Rising higher still, he felt himself fan outward into a realm that was endless power and possibility and potential. It swirled all around him and through him and filled him and he closed his eyes and let himself become part of it. It was sublime.

Suddenly, he felt himself yanked out of the potential and falling back to the garden, and he cried out. Wyndam had released his wrist. His eyes shot open when Wyndam grabbed his shoulders and shook him. In a moment, the world righted and he was once again sitting across from Wyndam in the garden. Wyndam's eyes were again ice blue, and he was smiling.

"Take a deep breath," Wyndam told him. He did, and felt better. "Good." Wyndam pushed up the right sleeve of his own shirt and offered his wrist to Carl. Carl looked at the offered wrist, then back to Wyndam, completely confused. "Go ahead, Carl, drink. You'll see what I offer you," Wyndam said softly.

Tentatively, Carl took hold of Wyndam's wrist and raised it to his mouth, his fangs extending. He looked again at Wyndam, but Wyndam only smiled and nodded at him. His eyes flashed solid black and he carefully sank his fangs into Wyndam's wrist, and started to drink. The first jolt of the blood was such he almost choked. It rushed into his mouth and was cold and sweet and thick. He swallowed it in great gulps, feeling it pour into his mouth and down his throat. The taste was unlike any blood he'd had before. It was full of life – no, more than that - lives and life-force and power and…a depth he'd never before felt. He groaned and closed his eyes as it all flooded through him and he grabbed Wyndam's wrist with both hands, desperately pushing the wrist and blood into his mouth, trying to drink it all in. He wanted to lose himself in it and become part of it and never leave it. It promised him more than he had ever imagined was possible. At the center of it all was Wyndam, offering the promise, his approval and his power. It was exquisite and deep and painful and magnificent, and almost unbearable. Carl moaned as the sensations flooded through him and tears ran down his face.

Suddenly it was gone. The blood and the wrist were gone and he was holding nothing but air. He cried out, his eyes snapping open and hands groping for more. Wyndam again held him by the shoulders and shook him, and then gently laid a hand against his cheek. Tears still fell down his face and he closed his eyes and turned his cheek into Wyndam's hand, overcome by the unbearable depth of sensation. It was several moments before his tears stopped and his eyes returned to their normal, and he came back to himself. He was overwhelmed and awash with emotion and devastated that the blood was gone. He wanted to crawl back inside it.

"It's alright, Carl. Welcome back," Wyndam smiled. Carl was unable to speak, still too lost in the sensations flooding through him. He looked at Wyndam and was amazed and incredulous that such could come from the blood of another vampire.

"Yes, a bit overwhelming," Wyndam chuckled. He removed a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped the blood from his wrist. Carl glanced down and saw that the fang marks on Wyndam's wrist were already fading and almost healed. He looked at his own wrist, and saw the marks from Wyndam's teeth were still there.

"They'll heal, but you will have a scar," Wyndam told him gently, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything but the sensations he'd just felt.

"Wha…" Carl had to clear his throat. "What was that?"

"That was a very small taste of your future with me. As part of my family, my power, my protection and my blood, are yours. In return, you are bound to and loyal to me."

Wyndam stood up and Carl tried to, but immediately sat down again, too dizzy and unbalanced to stand. He looked up at Wyndam, confusion now added to the euphoria. Wyndam chuckled.

"I'll be gone a few days, but when I return, we'll discuss this further, and begin the process of your becoming my protégé. In the meantime, whatever you want will be provided, just ask Samuel."

"Sir," Carl finally found his voice. "I don't understand…that…your blood…I don't…"

"Yes, I know, Carl." Wyndam smiled and again laid a hand against Carl's cheek. "It's alright. We'll talk about it when I return. Lawrence will arrive in two days, and he will explain some things to you. Don't try to understand it now, just accept it. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Carl whispered.

"Good. I'll see you in a few days." With that, Wyndam went into his office and closed the French doors, leaving Carl sitting on the marble bench trying to figure out what had just happened. It was daylight before Carl had recovered enough to return to his room. He didn't feed again from any of the humans that were offered to him.

Two days later he was summoned to a meeting with Lawrence. The sensations from Wyndam's blood had finally abated, and he was again clearheaded. Lawrence introduced him to Thomas, another Old One, and told Thomas that Carl was to be Wyndam's new protégé. Thomas shook Carl's hand, saying he'd heard many good things about Carl, and that he would be a valuable addition to Wyndam's family.

Carl spent the day with Lawrence, learning about the process of becoming Wyndam's protégé, in which he'd be remade and Wyndam would become his new sire. Lawrence also told him that he'd been much like Carl, enjoying the world, traveling, learning new things, developing abilities and talents, painting, music, even attending various schools and universities. That these things had ultimately given him something he could offer to Wyndam. That Wyndam had offered him a place and Lawrence had accepted immediately. That in the more than two hundred fifty years since, Lawrence had been in Wyndam's service.

Carl noticed that Lawrence spoke just like Wyndam, using the same words, the same gestures, and had the same ice blue eyes. He even dressed like Wyndam in a black suit with black shirt and tie.

"What have you been studying recently?" Carl asked as they ate an impeccably prepared dinner of pheasant and roasted vegetables and wine. Lawrence looked baffled by the question. "At university, what have you been studying recently?" Carl repeated.

"I don't do that any longer."

"Oh. What do you do?"

"I serve Lord Wyndam, wherever he needs me."

"Yes, but what else do you do? I understand you have a great talent for painting. Do you still paint?"

"No, why would I?"

Carl frowned, not understanding.

"I assist Lord Wyndam with whatever he needs, wherever he needs it. I don't want to do anything else," Lawrence told him, and Carl could see that Lawrence meant it completely. He really did not want to do anything other than help Wyndam.

"But what about the world? The places still to see, things still to learn?" Carl pressed.

"I don't need them anymore. Lord Wyndam provides me with everything I need. Why would I waste my time pursuing something that is so much less than what my sire provides? That would be foolish."

"So you've done everything you ever wanted to do? You've seen everything, been everywhere? Even with all the inventions and advancements in the world since becoming part of his family?"

"Carl, you're missing the point. Once you are bound to him, you don't need any of that! Everything you need will be right here. When there is an assignment for you, you will do it, but other than that, everything you could possibly want is right here, with Lord Wyndam."

Understanding flashed through Carl, and he realized that Lawrence was just an extension of Wyndam. **Only** an extension of Wyndam. Lawrence had no identity of his own and his entire existence was centered around Wyndam. Carl also realized that was what was in store for him – no more piano, no more learning, no more exploring, no more…anything, except Wyndam. No more of himself. No more wanting anything more. The thought terrified and horrified him.

Lawrence continued to talk about the pleasure in assisting Wyndam, in successfully completing a task for Wyndam, in reporting back to Wyndam, in helping Wyndam, in being Wyndam's protégé, in being…

Carl eventually stopped listening, his stomach roiling and lurching, and he thought he was going to be sick. He couldn't do this, he couldn't lose himself. But Wyndam was an Old One, and you didn't say no to them. Ever. He excused himself and went to his room, trying to sort this. Regardless of how he pushed it round in his mind, he always came back to the same conclusion. No matter how tantalizing Wyndam's blood and the promises it held, he couldn't live like that, dependent upon Wyndam for every thought and scrap of his existence. That was the equivalent of being a mindless slave. He would have to decline Wyndam's offer, assuming it really was an offer and not a command, and hope Wyndam would understand. He did not discuss it with Lawrence.

A few days later, Carl knocked on Wyndam's office door, and heard Wyndam invite him in. Taking a deep breath, he entered and shut the door.

"Hello, Carl," Wyndam smiled and came toward him, holding out his hand.

"Welcome back, sir." Carl shook his hand, trying not to look guilty.

"Thank you. I understand you met Lawrence, and Thomas."

"Yes, sir. They were both very welcoming. Lawrence was most helpful."

"Good, good. We'll begin the process tomorrow, and in a few days, you'll be part of my family."

"Actually," Carl's voice broke, and he couldn't hold Wyndam's gaze and looked away. Clearing his throat, he squared his shoulders and looked back at Wyndam. "Actually, sir, I, ah…I need to talk to you about that, to tell you something."

"Of course. Please, sit down," Wyndam gestured to the chair in front of the desk. Carl sat down and Wyndam leaned against the edge of the desk.

"I'm not sure how to say this, sir…I don't want to seem…ah…" the words wouldn't come.

"Carl, just say it!" Wyndam laughed, crossing his feet at the ankles. Carl looked up at him and smiled.

"I appreciate you giving me this opportunity, to be part of your family," he started, "but I'm afraid I must decline your very generous offer." He held his breath a moment, then rushed on. "Please, don't get me wrong, I am humbled and overwhelmed that you would consider me for such an honor. But I don't think I'm good enough for this, for you. I'm not what you deserve, and I'm afraid I would only disappoint you." He finished quietly and waited, holding Wyndam's intense gaze.

"I see." Wyndam stood up, the smile gone, and folded his arms across his chest. "And what led you to this conclusion?"

"Well," Carl swallowed, "after talking with Lawrence and seeing how good he is at what he does, how devoted he is to you and to what he does for you, I don't think I'm capable enough to do this. I'm just not good enough, and you deserve only the best of us. I couldn't live with myself if I disappointed you."

"And you think by declining my offer you are not disappointing me?" Wyndam asked quietly, and Carl's stomach dropped. He looked down at his hands.

"I know I'm disappointing you, sir," he whispered, "and I'm very sorry about that. But I am not what you need, and would be a complete disappointment to you."

"And you think you know what I need? Better than I do? That I am wrong in my opinion that you would be a great asset to me?" Wyndam asked. Carl nodded miserably.

"Is there anything I can do to change your thoughts on this?" Wyndam asked quietly

"No, sir. I'm sorry," he whispered, still looking at his hands.

"I see," Wyndam said and turned away from Carl. Carl was still looking at his hands and so he didn't see Wyndam suddenly spin around. So quickly he didn't have time to react, Carl felt Wyndam grab him by the shirt front, pull him from the chair, and slam him down onto the desk. Wyndam leaned over him, and Carl could see the anger on his face.

"You dare say no to me?" Wyndam hissed, his voice full of barely contained rage. Carl clutched at Wyndam's hands and shook his head. "You dare to refuse what I offer you? You refuse my blood? Refuse me?"

Carl tried to answer, but Wyndam yanked him from the desk and threw him across the room. He thudded heavily against the wall and the room started to spin.

"Your first lesson as my protégé, Carl," Wyndam's voice was now deceptively calm, "is that you do not refuse me. EVER!"

Wyndam again grabbed him and hauled him up from the floor, throwing him over the desk and sending him crashing through the French doors onto the terrace. His back hit against the marble bench and he cried out at the pain. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision and regain some balance. He saw Wyndam stalking toward him with hands clenched into fists.

He managed to scramble up and turned and ran. Ran through the gardens, and out past into the trees. He heard Wyndam shouting back at the house and then others yelling, but still he kept running. He knew if he didn't, Wyndam would destroy him. He ran as fast as he could, not bothering to look behind him, and not knowing where he was running to. He was still on the estate property when he heard Wyndam, clearly and distinctly, speak to him in his mind.

_Running won't help, Carl. I will find you. And you will spend the rest of your existence begging my forgiveness!_

He didn't stop, didn't try to figure out how he could hear Wyndam in his mind, he just kept running.

* * *

><p>He'd been running for over a hundred years now. He never heard Wyndam in his mind again, and until today, had managed to stay a half step ahead. Now, in the plane's toilet, remembering it all, his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He drew a deep breath and clenched his fingers into fists to steady them.<p>

He didn't know how this would all end, but he did know two things: he would die before surrendering to Wyndam; and if necessary, he would kill Mitchell to save him.

oooooooooo


	4. Chapter 4

_In for a penny..._

* * *

><p>Carl dried off his face and hands, clenched his fingers into fists one more time to stop the shaking, and left the loo. As he turned to walk back to his seat, something pounded into his face and he flew backward, landing on the floor with a thud. Dazed, trying to shake his head clear, he felt hands grab him and drag him up. A moment later, he was thrown into his seat. Blood ran from his nose. Looking up, he saw Padraig looming over him with a fist drawn back, ready to strike again. Mitchell stood next to Padraig.<p>

"Where?" Mitchell said through clenched teeth.

"Where what?" Carl whispered, trying to catch his breath while he wiped at the blood with the back of his hand. He saw Padraig move, and instinctively he flinched away. Mitchell stopped Padraig from letting loose with the blow, and again leaned over Carl.

"George and Nina were not on the plane. Where are they?"

"No, I told you the names they're using."

"The Thompson's? Yeah, they were on the plane. Eighty year olds going on a fucking holiday. Last chance. Where are they?"

"They weren't on…?" Carl let surprise fill his voice. "What do you mean they weren't on the plane?"

Mitchell didn't answer and Carl could see the muscle working in Mitchell's jaw. He wondered how much further he could push Mitchell, especially now that Mitchell had to suspect he'd lied. And, of course, he had. He'd lied about Cork, about the fake names, about the plan. Hell, he lied about everything except sending them to Ireland. Now, after their earlier conversation, he had no idea how Mitchell would react to it all. _In for a penny. Stick with the lie._

"Then I'm not sure," he said carefully, holding Mitchell's gaze. "I sorted it for them to go to Cork. You know George better than I do. Would he act on his own?" Carl asked the question slowly. Mitchell's eyes narrowed as he stared at Carl.

"Páidí, tell the pilot to head for Dublin," Mitchell finally said, straightening up. He looked down at Carl. "Then call Lawrence."

"No!" Carl grabbed at Mitchell's arm. "I have no idea what George has done or where he's gone to. I've told you the arrangements I made – they were supposed to go to Cork! Leave her alone!"

"You really shouldn't have lied to me, Carl," Mitchell said quietly. "You have no idea who I am now, or what I'm capable of."

The coldness in Mitchell's eyes kept Carl from answering, and after a few moments, he swallowed nervously and released Mitchell's arm.

"Tell Lawrence," Mitchell turned to Padraig, "to contact our people in Shannon, Dublin and Edinburgh. Tell them to forget about names or Brazil or any of that shit. Look for anyone who's pregnant, is big enough to be pregnant, or even smells pregnant, no matter what she looks like – young, old, tall, short, with other kids, doesn't matter. Find her."

Mitchell returned to his seat, but before sitting down, he looked back at Carl.

"And tell Lawrence to be ready to leave for Bristol. Carl's crossed the line, and if we miss George, Leigh goes to Wyndam." Carl started to protest but Mitchell held up a hand, cutting him off. "For her sake, you better pray we find them."

Mitchell's said it softly, and for a moment, Carl thought he heard sadness in Mitchell's voice. He also thought something other than cold and anger flashed through those unsettling blue eyes, and he narrowed his gaze. But then it was gone, and he saw only coldness as Mitchell stared at him for a moment before turning and sitting down.

_Careful, old man, _he told himself._ Don't see something that isn't there. Good way to get yourself killed._

* * *

><p>The short flight from Liverpool was uneventful, except for Nina being driven insane by George. He wouldn't sit still. He would look around the cabin, and then pull the airline magazine out from the seat pocket, flip through it and then put it back, and then take off his glasses and clean them. Then he'd glance round the cabin again. Over and over. She knew he was nervous about who they were supposed to meet, and about going to Ireland. And the fake passports. And Carl trying to help Mitchell. And…hell, he was nervous about everything and she knew it, but he was driving her insane with the fidgeting. She finally grabbed hold of his hands, and held them tightly, smiling at him. He grinned sheepishly and rested his head against his seatback.<p>

They made it through customs with their fake passports, and a nod from the agent. She saw George's eyes widen and he opened his mouth to say something, but she nudged him and pulled him away. The agent smiled and told them to enjoy their holiday. They were starting through the terminal toward the exit when a man approached them.

"Richard! How great to see you!" the man said, holding his arms out to George. He was wearing a tee shirt imprinted with the Brazilian national football team logo, and _Brasil_ written under it. The Brazil reference had been Carl's idea. The man grabbed George into a hug.

"Carl sent me. Call me David," he whispered into George's ear. He was shorter than George, about forty years old, with dark hair and blue eyes and a strong Irish accent.

"David!" George responded, as David hugged Nina. "Great to see you again!"

"Come on, let's get out of here! Mary is waiting outside," he said, leading them toward the terminal exit.

"Wait a second," George said, stopping. "I need to pee."

"Richard," Nina said through clenched teeth and a forced smile. "Perhaps you could wait until we get home, since David's been waiting for so long?" She motioned to the doors with her head.

"Um, no, not really," George told her, his face reddening. Nina rolled her eyes at him, and sighed with frustration. She'd told him not to have the tea at the Liverpool airport.

"You'll have to use the men's in the bar. It's over there," David said, nodding off to the right, taking the travel bag from George. "We'll wait for you outside, at the car. Hurry up!" David laughed. George nodded and headed off to the men's room.

Nina walked out of the terminal with David and to a car waiting toward the end of the arrivals area. There was a dark haired woman standing next to the car, and she smiled broadly and waved when she saw them.

"Found them with no trouble, Mary!" David said to her. "Richard will be out in a minute."

"Great! Hi!" she leaned over and gave Nina a hug. David opened the rear door of the car and helped Nina in. She saw him glance back to the terminal entrance for George, and then saw him suddenly catch his breath. He looked over the roof of the car to Mary, and Nina saw Mary glance over to the terminal entrance. There were three men entering the terminal, one a tall blond man dressed as airport security, the other two in Garda uniforms. Nina heard Mary gasp quietly and looked at David. David motioned for Mary to get into the car.

"What's the matter?" Nina asked.

"Out of sight, quick, vampires!" David told her. Nina did as he said, and bent down so she couldn't be seen from outside the car.

"What's going on?" Nina asked.

"David's going to see where George is," Mary told her. "He'll be right back."

David slowly walked along the building wall to the terminal entrance, and peered through the glass doors. Suddenly, he turned around and hurried back to the car, getting in and starting it.

"Stay down!" he whispered to Nina. Nina started to protest and sit up, but Mary reached back to her and rested a hand on Nina's back, shaking her head.

As they drove past the terminal entrance, David and Mary both turned their faces away from the window facing the terminal. Nina squirmed out from under Mary's hand and sat up.

"Where's George? What's wrong?" she asked, her voice breathless and high pitched with panic.

"The vampires. They found him."

* * *

><p>George left the men's room and was threading his way through the people toward the exit when he stumbled over something. He caught himself before falling but as he righted himself, he fell against someone to his left.<p>

"Excuse me," he mumbled with his head down, as he moved to step around the person.

"No excuse for you, dog," a male voice hissed. Head snapping up, George saw a blond man he didn't know staring down at him, dressed in an Airport Security uniform. George's senses flared. Vampire. "Going somewhere?"

George started to back up, and saw the vampire's eyes flicker past George. A slow smile formed on the vampire's lips. Glancing over his shoulder, George saw two other men dressed as Garda closing in on him. He tried to dart around the blond, but wasn't quick enough. The blond vampire stepped in front of him and he felt the other two come up behind him.

"Now, don't make this difficult, George," the vampire smiled. "We aren't supposed to hurt you. Mitchell just wants to talk to you."

"I bet he does," George answered, trying to control his voice. _How do I warn Nina? What the hell do I do? Get them away from Nina. _

"Where's your bitch?"

"Why don't you take me to Mitchell, and we can talk as much as he wants?" George countered. He tried to take a few steps, but the vampires closed in around him. He risked a glance to the exit doors, and saw David peer through the glass door, and then quickly turn away. He silently prayed that David would do whatever was necessary to get Nina out of the airport.

_Buy time._ _Let her get away._

"Where is she, George?"

"I'll tell you what. Why don't you ring Mitchell, and I'll have a chat with him. I'm sure he wouldn't want me to discuss this with a..what exactly are you? Underling? Errand boy? Dirt under his heel? Oh, wait, perhaps he's too far above your pay grade for you to even call him. Is that it? Okay, you give me a mobile and I'll ring him, how's that?" he taunted, eyes darting around him looking for help from somewhere.

"Don't try it. We'll kill everyone in here if we have to," the vampire hissed, stepping closer to him. "Now, tell me where she is."

"Now isn't that brilliant. So you're after more publicity, is it? Twenty people on a train carriage didn't bring enough?" George kept his voice low and even. "Can't imagine Wyndam would appreciate what would come with a slaughter at an international airport, but hey, if you want to risk pissing him off, you go right ahead."

The vampire didn't answer, just glared at him.

"Yeah, didn't think so," George smirked, trying to sound braver than he felt. "Now, get out of my way, or I will start yelling and bring everyone running."

"Thanks, George." The vampire's smile was cruel. "I thought we weren't going to have to…persuade…you." George felt something suddenly jab into the back of his knees and rough hands push him to the floor. He tried to fight them and opened his mouth to yell, but then he felt hands around his throat and in seconds, everything went black.

"It's all right, no problem here," the blond vampire told the people that were staring. "Just not used to our good whiskey!" he laughed, and the onlookers laughed with him.

* * *

><p>"We have to go back!" Nina was yelling at David. "Turn around!"<p>

"I can't, Nina. We can't risk them finding you. I'm sorry."

"If you don't stop this car I'm going to jump out of it!" Nina threatened.

"Nina, please," Mary said turning and trying to take one of Nina's hands. Nina flinched away from her. "I know how hard this is, but it will do George no good if they catch you too. George would not want you to put the baby in danger for him. Would he?" Nina didn't answer her. "That's right. He would want you to be safe. Away from the vampires."

Nina still didn't answer, staring out the window into the night. It was so dark she had no idea where she was, or how to get back to the airport. But she needed to help George.

"Nina, listen to me," David said. "We will find George, I promise. We will get him back. I have a good group of people helping us, and we will find him. Please, trust us."

"Trust you? I don't know you from Adam. You could be working for them for all I know! Why should I trust you?"

"Because Carl does," was David's quiet answer. "And you trusted Carl enough to put your child's life in his hands. We're werewolves, Nina, just like you. We will protect you."

"I can't leave George! I can't just drive away and leave him with them! They will kill him! Mitchell is not his friend anymore and I sure as hell know Mitchell is capable of killing him. We have to go back for him!" Her tears started to fall even though she was angry. She knew David was right, but she also knew she couldn't leave George to Mitchell. Not now, not after what Carl had said.

"I swear to you, Nina, we will get him back," David told her. "We have to get you someplace safe first. Then we'll find a way to help George. Okay?"

Nina didn't answer, just stared down at her swollen belly. The baby chose that moment to give her a vicious kick on the right side, and she gasped. She needed to calm down, and took several deep breaths, closing her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She could feel the baby settle down with her. After a few moments, she opened her eyes, but kept rubbing her belly.

"Okay, David," she said. "But don't wait for me to get somewhere safe. If you have people that can help, call them now. Tell them to help George, now!"

"Already on it," he said, and Mary was already speaking into her mobile. "We'll get him, Nina."

Nina sat back in the seat, still rubbing her belly.

"Don't worry, little one," she whispered. "We'll find him. Whatever it takes, we'll get him back." No matter what. She would not lose him. Not to the likes of John Mitchell.

oooooooooo


	5. Chapter 5

_"...the power you have..."_

* * *

><p>Annie followed Samuel to a room on the fourth floor. She was still too upset to speak to him. Wyndam had rattled her, and she didn't quite know what to do, so she silently followed Samuel and hoped Rose might be able to help her. He knocked on the door and a woman's voice told them to come in. Rose was sitting in a chair next to the bed, reading a book. Her red dress was still beautiful, and she looked like she just stepped out of a magazine advert.<p>

"Rose," Samuel said without emotion.

"Samuel. Hello Annie." Annie didn't return Rose's smile.

"Hi." Annie wasn't sure what to expect, but this quiet civilized atmosphere was not it. She half expected Rose to rail at Samuel or try to rush out the door or escape. But then again, she'd tried that herself without success. Hell, she hadn't even gotten her own door open.

"Lord Wyndam would like you to help Annie with the rules," Samuel told Rose. "You may also help her to adjust to her new life, and to being…useful to him. He's graciously agreed that you two may meet whenever you like. Except, of course, when you're on assignment." He smiled and Annie didn't like it. She didn't like him at all. As he looked at her, his smile broadened, as though he'd read her thoughts and found it amusing that she didn't like him. "She is not to leave the building, Rose. She is not to go near Tom. And she has no use of her powers until Lord Wyndam allows it. Just a reminder, Annie." He gave Annie a mocking bow and then turned for the door.

"Samuel?" Annie said softly and he turned back to her. "One day, you and I are going to have a go. And I'm going to destroy you." She said it softly, but her eyes were steel. Samuel laughed, loudly.

"He was so right about you. You're going to be so much fun." His smile remained as he left the room.

"You shouldn't do that, Annie," Rose said, closing her book. "Samuel is dangerous. He's Wyndam's right hand. For all intents and purposes, he **is** Wyndam when it comes to deciding things. He can make life very difficult for you. "

"I doubt that," Annie whispered. "Besides, I've nothing left to lose at this point. I won't work for Wyndam. I've lost Mitchell, and George and Nina are gone, so there isn't really anything for me anymore." She sank down onto the bed, despair starting to run through her.

"There's always something. Wyndam will find it, and he'll use it against you. There are worse things for a ghost than being destroyed, Annie. Especially when you care about people. Like Tom."

"Where is he?"

"I can't tell you."

"No, of course you can't." Annie looked down at her fingers, picking at a nail.

Annie," Rose sat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "I know this is awful, but now we have each other. You're not alone. We'll help each other, okay?"

Annie didn't answer and felt the tears well up inside her. She wished Mitchell were here. With a deep breath, she shook herself and brushed the tears away from her eyes. Tears wouldn't help. At all. So, first things first.

"Okay, so how do I get out of here?" she asked, lifting her chin. Rose dropped her arm and sat back.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how the hell do I get out of this building? I need to find George and I can't do it sitting here. So, how do I get out?"

"You can't, Annie. Didn't he explain things? He said you can't leave the building, so you can't. He does control you. It's awful, but that's the way it is."

"I don't believe that. There has to be some way. I have powers that _he_ doesn't, so there must be away." She spit out the _he_ with disgust, her hatred for Wyndam seeping through.

"Please, Annie, don't say such things," Rose whispered, and Annie could see the fear in her eyes. Very quickly, Rose swept the room with her eyes as though she was looking for someone, and then looked back at Annie. Annie frowned, and Rose squeezed her arm. Again, Rose's eyes flickered round the room and Annie started to understand.

_Listening?_ Annie mouthed the word to Rose, and Rose blinked very slowly. Nodding, Annie lowered her head.

"I don't think I can do this, Rose. I can't help him. I won't. I'd rather not exist than help him."

"I know, Annie, I know. I felt the same way. But it all comes down to what's important to you. I can tell you, Tom is here and he's alive." Rose nodded at Annie's sharp glance. "You have to decide what's more important: helping Tom or fighting Wyndam. If you want to help Tom, you'll have to bargain with Wyndam. There is no way around it."

"I can't! He wants me to kill werewolves! I won't do it!" Annie jumped up, pacing around the room. After several moments of silent pacing, she finally stopped and looked up at the ceiling, wrapping her arms around herself. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Rose.

"How the hell did this monster get control of all of us so quickly? He's got George and Nina running for their lives, he's holding Tom and me prisoner, and he's turned Mitchell into…into…I don't know what! And now he's going to try to turn me into a killer for his personal use! How the hell did this happen?" She hugged herself tighter as the tears started to fall. Rose came to her and hugged her tightly.

"I know, Annie. It's so hard. But he's just that powerful. I'm sorry," she said. The gentleness was too much for Annie and her tears broke through. She grabbed onto Rose and held on as the sobs overwhelmed her. It had all gone so horribly wrong. Nothing was supposed to be like this! It was supposed to be the four of them, in the house, getting ready for the baby, getting ready to be a real family, loving each other and being…human! Instead, it was this madness that just kept spiraling deeper and deeper into hell.

"I know, Annie. It's okay. You'll be all right. It's okay," Rose crooned to her.

Annie couldn't stop the feelings of despair and pain. With them came the image of Wyndam in her mind, and that smile of his as he taunted her. He was the one responsible for all this. They just wanted to be left alone, to live their lives. She'd had a lot of time to think about it, and she didn't really believe George would have gone through with killing Mitchell. At that last moment, before Wyndam had shown up, she'd even felt herself start to fade, to jump in and stop George. They'd all have found a way to deal with what Mitchell had done, and she would have helped him to stay clean. She would have made sure to listen to him when he needed it, and to be there for him when he was tempted. But Wyndam had shown up and changed everything. He had taken Mitchell from her. Wyndam had taken from her the one thing that had finally brought her some joy in this existence!

Her pain started to turn and and she felt the heat of her hatred for Wyndam. It was smoldering inside her, ready to grow. She grabbed hold of it and fanned it and let it build. She wanted to feel this hatred. She **needed** to feel it. She would keep it burning until this nightmare was over. She let it replace the despair and vowed to hold onto it and let it fuel her. Her body began to shake with the intensity of it and the overwhelming need to do violence to Wyndam, to drive a stake into his heart. She could taste the bitter need to see him dead.

She felt Rose's arms suddenly tighten around her.

"Annie!" Rose whispered as she tightened her hold on Annie. "Calm down, please. This is important. Please, calm down. Do you know what you just did? The lamp on the bedside table just flickered!"

Annie heard the words and they seeped into her thoughts about wanting to kill Wyndam. She frowned and the shaking slowed. She started to step back from Rose, but instead, Rose held on tightly.

"You just used your power. When he said you couldn't! How did you do that?" Rose was still whispering, and it took a moment for the words to register. Annie shook her head, not trusting her voice to speak.

"Be very careful what you show him, be careful using your powers. Don't mention this, to anyone, okay?"

Annie nodded her understanding and a moment later, Rose let go of her.

"Better?" Rose asked her loudly, smiling. Annie nodded, and wiped at the tears that had already evaporated. Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands down her sweater, straightening it.

"Thanks Rose. It's just a bit overwhelming. I'm okay." She gave Rose a small smile. Taking another unnecessary deep breath, she ran a hand over her hair. "Okay. Tom. I need to help him, but I won't kill him. I won't let anyone kill him. So, what do I need to know?"

"Good, Annie. That's good! I'm so happy you've decided to work with this," Rose gave her another hug. "It's all about your powers," she whispered in Annie's ear. "You're so strong, they're the key."

"I hear you. I'll be careful," Annie whispered to her.

Stepping back, Rose went to the chair and sat down. "How about we start with the powers you do have. What do you know how to do?"

"Well," Annie sat down on the bed. "I can read auras, and poltergeist things, make electricity go haywire….make tea…" her voice trailed off.

"Have you figured out how to make yourself visible when you want?"

"No. That seems to be tied to my emotions. Can you teach me that?"

"Yes, it's actually pretty easy. Has to do with concentration. What about carrying objects with you when you disappear? Or sending yourself to another location?"

"I can send myself to somewhere that I've seen, or been to before. I've never tried to carry something with me, though. We can do that?"

"Of course. You saw me do it yesterday in Barry, with that bag, remember?"

Annie nodded, and for a moment, she felt a stab of pain. Was that only yesterday? God, it felt like a lifetime ago. She wondered where Mitchell was, and how he was. She still couldn't believe he was back to killing and feeding. Wyndam had forced him, she was certain of it, but she had no idea how to help him out of it. With a mental shake, she stopped her thoughts and focused on what Rose was saying.

"….after that, it's easy. So, what do you want to start with?" Rose asked.

"All of it. I want to learn all of it," Annie said quietly, resolve taking hold. She'd find a way to help Mitchell. But first, she needed to save Tom and help him escape. She would develop her powers as much as possible. She'd even use Wyndam to do that, let him think that'd he won. And then she would destroy him. Somehow, she'd find a way to destroy him. If it was the last thing she ever did in this….existence. She set her jaw and clenched her teeth. He would be destroyed.

Rose picked up the phone on the bedside table and pushed 3 numbers.

"I need Samuel," she said to whoever answered. She put up a hand at Annie's questioning look. "Samuel, Annie would like to start working on her powers, see if she can do what I do…..being visible when she wants, transporting herself, carrying objects when she does, things like that…okay." Rose held the phone out to Annie.

"Hello?" Annie said, taking the phone.

"Annie, I'm glad to hear you want to work on your powers," Samuel said and she could hear him smiling. She clenched her teeth again. "You may use your powers there in Rose's room. You may transport yourself into the hallway outside her door and back into her room, but no further. You may work on your powers with Rose, in her room, but nowhere else. Do you understand?"

Annie didn't answer, her anger again boiling to the surface. Rose waved her hands at Annie and shook her head, then motioned for Annie to calm down. Taking a deep breath, Annie nodded.

"Do you understand, Annie?"

"Yes," she said curtly.

"Good. See, Annie? I knew you'd come around. They all do." There was a click and the line went dead.

Annie carefully handed the phone back to Rose, before she lost her temper and threw it against the wall. With a mental check, she reminded herself that she would destroy Samuel, too. Somehow, she would end him.

oooooooooo

Annie was a quick study, and was soon proving Rose correct. It didn't take her long to learn how to control her concentration and be visible when she wanted. She was soon appearing and disappearing in the room just with a quick thought. It did required that she control her emotions, but once she learned how to channel the emotions into concentration, it was easy. They even practiced with Rose making Annie angry – actually, Annie just imagined Wyndam and her anger started to boil – and she was still able to disappear.

Soon they added rentaghosting into the mix. After popping into the hall several times, Rose gave Annie a book to carry while she did it again. The first few times, nothing happened. Rose told her to make the book part of her, think of it as an extension of her hand, like a finger. When she did that, the book disappeared with her, but slammed into the door and dropped to the floor while Annie appeared in the hallway. It took a few more tries, but then it happened, and Annie was standing in the hall with the book in hand. She smiled thinking about how she could now rentaghost with a stake in her hand.

"Can I carry things in my clothes, or does it have to be in my hand?" she asked as she popped back into the room.

"I don't know," Rose said with surprised. "I've never thought to try."

"Hmmm." Annie looked around the room, then picked up the small pillow from the chair and tucked it inside her sweater. With a frown of concentration, she disappeared and found herself in the hallway. The pillow was still in her sweater. Quickly popping back into the room, she grabbed the book again and put it inside her sweater. Concentrating intently, she willed herself into the hall. Nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing.

"What's wrong?" she asked Rose.

"What are you thinking about? Are you concentrating on the book, or on moving?"

Closing her eyes, Annie took a breath and thought only about being on the other side of the door. Opening her eyes, she was in the hall. The book was still inside her sweater. She gave a little jump and squeaked, then clamped a hand over her mouth. Popping back into the room, she was all smiles.

"Wow!" Rose said. "You are good! Took me a long time to learn how to carry objects, but look at you!"

"Good, it's good. Okay, what's next?"

"Think we should talk about the werewolf thing? Try to figure it out?" Rose asked softly. Annie didn't answer, thinking about what Wyndam had said; that she could control werewolves. She thought of that night in the house when George had transformed but hadn't come after her. And Nina, that first night, had paced back and forth in front of her, eyeing her, but didn't try to attack her.

Mitchell had said something different. What was it? She closed her eyes, bringing yesterday to her mind. Was it really only yesterday? She pushed the thought away with annoyance.

Mitchell had been so intense in what he was trying to tell her. Wyndam had been looming over them, threatening, but Mitchell had ignored him and tried to hard to tell her something. She tilted her head to one side, picturing the house and herself sitting on the sofa with Mitchell. He'd grabbed her by the arms and stared into her eyes.

_"How you were in the funeral home, remember**? Remember! **When you helped me. You can do that, only…more. You can stop, and kill, fully transformed werewolves. And what you did to Cooper, while protecting Nancy? You can…"_

Wyndam had cut him off at that point. With pain. Saying Mitchell was disappointing him. Mitchell must have said something he wasn't supposed to.

Kill a fully transformed werewolf. She wouldn't do that, but if she could control them, keep them from killing someone else, that would be something.

What had she done at the funeral home, when the humans were dying? She'd opened locked doors. She'd thrown furniture and papers around the room. She threw the vampires aside. She'd made...wait! She had thrown vampires across the room. With her power, she was able to physically move them! She was stronger than them! Could that really be the case? Was she stronger than them? Oh, God, what if she was? That would change everything!

But there was something else, something with Cooper, when she saved Nancy. She'd staked him from behind. She'd surprised him, going unseen then visible just before she staked him. He hadn't known where she was and she'd been able to sneak up on him. She'd surprised him. She'd….surprised him and then staked him. She was strong enough to stake him and kill him! Was she really stronger than them? Could she be stronger than Wyndam?

She gasped, her eyes flying open.

Mitchell had said something else. _Do you have any idea the power you have over us non-humans?_

She had power over "...us non-humans". He'd included himself, and vampires, in that statement. If she could control werewolves, could she also control vampires? Or more to the point, if she had the power to kill transformed werewolves, could she kill vampires with the same power? Oh, Lord, if she could do that, then she could…! She gasped again, and felt a rush of excitement run through her. Please, please let it be so!

"Yes," she turned excitedly to Rose. "Let's figure this out."

Kill vampires. She could kill vampires. And she knew who was first on her list. Maybe Wyndam didn't have it quite right. What if she was not only more powerful than _she_ thought, but more powerful than **he** thought? That would be...oh, she would love to see his face at that moment, when he realized it. Just before he turned to smoke and ash. She knew it to be true, that moment would come. She felt it. She would kill him. A deep calm spread through her at the thought, and she smiled.

oooooooo

"You were right, as always," Samuel said, sitting across from Wyndam. "Rose called and said Annie wanted to work on her powers. I agreed to it, but limited her to Rose's room and the hallway."

Wyndam smiled, rocking back in his chair behind his desk. Fingertips touching, he nodded his head, and closed his eyes. His smile deepened as he focused on the emotions emanating toward him.

"She is something, isn't she? Right now, she's planning on developing her powers enough to be able to kill me." Wyndam chuckled. "How delightful."

"But sir, she does have extraordinary power. Shouldn't we curtail what she does?"

"You miss the point, Samuel. She's decided to kill me. She **_wants_** to kill me." Wyndam sat forward when Samuel still didn't understand. "Sweet, pure, white-light innocent Annie wants to kill me. She is feeding her hatred, letting it take root and using it to drive her."

"Of course," Samuel nodded and smiled.

"Continue antagonizing her," Wyndam chuckled again and sat back in his chair. "Help her feed her new found darkness. She'll be mine in no time."

oooooooooo


	6. Chapter 6

_She was only food..._

* * *

><p><em>Carl's lying. Again. It needs to stop<em>. Mitchell leaned his head against the seatback and closed his eyes._ If he doesn't, I'm gonna kill him, and the girl! Why won't he understand? Wyndam won. This is how it is now. _It had taken him a month, but he'd finally learned it. That last night in Barry had sealed it: Wyndam would not have let him leave. An Old One had chosen him, and there was nothing to be done for it. He'd seen the warning in Padraig's eyes, and knew there was no choice for him. By then, he didn't really want one.

_Why does Carl insist on fighting this, on lying to me? Makes me wanna rip him apart! _He pushed his head into the seatback, imagining how it would feel to rip Carl's head from his body. Unconsciously, his fingers curled into fists and tightened, and he was taken by surprise at the overwhelming flash of anger. He really did want to kill Carl. Or someone. Anyone. With effort, he shook his fingers open and rubbed his hands together.

Suddenly, his whole body ignited and it felt like flames burned through him, scalding and blistering under his skin. He gasped for breath and sucked in a deep gulp of air, holding it inside him. His eyes squeezed shut and he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. Afraid to move, he sat immobile as the imaginary flames fanned throughout his body. He wanted to call out for Padraig, but didn't trust himself to open his mouth. After what seemed hours of enduring the flames, he forced his eyes to open and then his fingers to open. He knew his body wasn't on fire, but he needed to feel something else. Muscles screaming, protesting their use, he forced his hands to move across his thighs, feeling the rough denim of his jeans against his palms. He concentrated on the feeling, waiting for it to replace the burning that threatened to consume him. He gasped for unnecessary air as his skin suddenly felt a blanket of stabbing pain envelope him, covering every inch of him, cutting into him and through him and leaving him raw and blistered. He jerked back into the seat, pinned by the weight of the pain, tears filling his eyes. He wanted to tear the skin from his body.

Just as suddenly, it was all gone. The cutting, stabbing pain stopped and the fire vanished, leaving him cold, shaking and completely spent. Dropping his chin to his chest, he drew deep ragged breaths, trying to calm his now trembling body. Eyes closed, he focused on breathing, in and out, slow and calm. _Just breathe._ After several moments, he raised his head and let it fall against the seat. _Christ, what the hell was that?_ Licking his lips, he tried to find some saliva in his dry mouth. He desperately needed….something. He was completely…he needed to…

He sighed heavily and slowly raised his hands to his eyes, rubbing away the tears and blurry vision. _What the hell was that? Wyndam? Why can't I hear him anymore? Jesus, what the hell was that? _There was no answer from Wyndam. He'd not heard Wyndam since Liverpool and now the silence was overwhelming. He slowly ran his hands across his thighs again, feeling the rough denim, and took several deep breaths. His stomach lurched and he grabbed at it with his hands, doubling over. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick, but then it passed, leaving him shaking again. _What the…?_

"You are not gonna believe this," Padraig said, suddenly standing right next to him. Mitchell jumped and grabbed the armrest. "Geez, you all right?" Padraig was holding the mobile phone out to him. He nodded and reached a shaky hand toward the phone, but Padraig pulled it away and instead, leaned in to whisper to him.

"Oh, shit. Hang on, Mitchell. It'll pass." Padraig put a hand on his shoulder and nodded at him in understanding. "Just breathe. Keep breathing. That's it. All you need is some of Wyndam's blood and you'll be fine. Know that you'll get it, and it'll be fine. For now, just breathe and relax. There you go. Concentrate on knowing that you'll get what you need. That's it. Focus." As Padraig leaned away from him, Mitchell felt the shock ripple through him. That was it. At the mention of Wyndam's blood, his body calmed and he felt better. Actually, he felt a lot better. That was what he wanted. No, needed. Wyndam's blood. _What the fuck is that?_ Fear and confusion flashed through him, and he looked at Padraig, waiting for an answer.

"It's normal. Don't think about it now," Padraig whispered. "I'll explain later. For now, just know that you'll get what you need. Soon. In the meantime, focus on what you have to do."

"What the hell is this? What just happened to me?"

"No worries, Mitchell. It's normal, part of the process. I'll explain later, but for now, I need you to focus on what you have to do. You need to deal with this." Padraig held the phone out to him again. "And it's going to make you very happy."

He did feel better, but now he was burning with questions. _What the hell happened, what part of the process, and what does Wyndam's blood have to do with this? Shit, I need answers! Now!_ Taking another deep breath, he took hold of the phone and cleared his throat.

"What?" he barked at whoever was on the other end of the phone. He listened for a moment then looked up quickly at Padraig. "What about her?...Find her! She's there…I don't care how, just find her!" More listening. "Yeah, we'll meet you there, but search every inch, inside and out. She won't be far. Find her!"

He snapped the phone shut and smiled at Padraig. Padraig grinned and glanced back at Carl.

"Yeah, I know," Mitchell told him, taking another deep breath as he got up from his seat. "Enough of this bullshit." _Just do what you have to, and stop thinking!_ He turned and stepped back to stand over Carl, crossing his arms.

"You must really hate Leigh," he told Carl, not smiling.

"That's an interesting way to start a conversation," Carl said. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you lied. Now she pays the price."

"Lied? How?"

"We just found George. At Dublin airport. Time for Leigh to go see Wyndam." He held up a finger as Carl started to protest. "I warned you. Instead, you lied and tried to _Real Hustle_ me, and now she pays the price. I'll enjoy watching you turn her." He slid into the seat across from Carl, not looking at him. "Do you really think you can win at this? Get them away from Wyndam? It's impossible, Carl. Just like it's impossible for you, or me, to fight him."

"First, I didn't lie. As I told you, I arranged for them to go to Cork. I've no idea how he wound up in Dublin. Second, you're wrong. We can fight him - together."

Mitchell didn't answer and, for a moment, he wondered how different things would be if Carl were on his side in this. Finally he turned to look at Carl.

"Too late. So how about you stop all this nonsense, join me and we do what needs be done. What do you say?" Mitchell smiled ruefully, knowing what the answer would be. Carl held Mitchell's gaze for a moment and then slowly shook his head.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. I can't let Wyndam do this to them."

"What a surprise. Ever the hopeless hero, aren't you? Do you seriously think he won't win? You, of all people, should know he won't stop. Ever. You said no to him, and now you're helping our enemies. All you're doing is pissing him off even more. You have to know you won't get out of this, so why? Why fight the inevitable?"

"Because someone has to," Carl said softly, "and right now, you can't."

Mitchell laughed and shook his head, all trace of sadness gone.

"You really think you can change my mind? I chose this. You think you can pull me back into your world of denying who I am? You're wrong. It's pathetic that you're so wrong."

"You didn't think so in Vienna. You haven't thought so for the past fifty years. Tell me, how did you choose this? How did Wyndam help you choose this? Let's see, he kidnapped you, forced you into blood again, addicted you to **his** blood, made you kill, and now invades your mind to control you. Or did you agree to let him do all that to you? Is that it? Is that what you 'chose'?"

Mitchell felt his chest tighten, but made himself laugh softly.

"You don't understand. Not yet. Everything he did was to help me. And it did. It's such a relief to let go of all the crap, stop fighting, and be what I am. He showed me the life I should have and the family I could have. And then offered me both. Unconditionally."

"Oh, Mitchell, no, don't believe it." Carl shook his head sadly. "Wyndam is nothing but conditions. And you never see them coming. You'll have no life of your own. You'll be his slave, just like Lawrence."

"Now you're the one who's wrong."

"Think about it. You'll sit in a room somewhere waiting for Wyndam to send you on an errand. You'll do it. Then you'll go back to sitting in that room waiting for his next call. That's it. There will be nothing more for you. You will live and breathe only for a moment of his attention and a drop of his blood. And he'll only give you enough to keep you sitting in that room."

"Wyndam would never do that," Mitchell shook his head, refusing to believe it. "Not after…no, he wouldn't do that. At least, not to me." Mitchell stared at Carl a moment, and was rewarded when Carl looked away. _Yeah, he would do that to you, Carl. And worse. _

"Answer me this," Carl shifted and turned toward Mitchell. "Why is he making you his protégé, his slave?"

"I am not his slave, and never will be," Mitchell said quietly.

"Because you threaten him!" Carl continued. "Who you are, what you're capable of – hell, what you accomplished! It all threatens him and his control of others. So he must control you. By whatever means necessary. Addict you to his blood, promise you what you want to hear, whatever it takes. And when he's done with you, when he's shown everyone that even **you **can't fight him, he will lock you away until he needs to parade you about to prove his point again. Or he will kill you. Without hesitation."

"That's still better than the anguish and pain I've lived in for so long!"

"At least you felt something!" Carl leaned forward. "You had times of absolute joy, too. Remember Josie? You loved her. Really loved her. Remember when you and George rented the pink house, and your friendship? That made you happy. And what about Annie? Going to Purgatory to find her and your joy when you did. Are you so willing to give up ever feeling that way again? Look at you now, only cold and anger and violence and need. Are you prepared to feel only those things for the next couple hundred years, until you no longer feel anything?"

"Without the pain? Absolutely. I'll take this any day. Don't you get it? I don't have to fight it anymore. No more episodes of _Wipeout_. Just be, here, where I belong and where I'm wanted for what I am."

"And killing? You're fine with going back to killing, taking innocent lives, ruining families?"

"They're only human, Carl. Food. Nothing more."

"What if it was Josie. What if you had to kill Josie now?" Carl asked it quietly, and Mitchell felt his chest tighten again. He looked away and dropped his gaze to his hands. Josie. He hadn't thought about her in so long. Not since that first week with Wyndam. He was silent for several long moments, and then felt it. A dull ache behind his eyes. _Shit._

"You forget, I already did." He said it quietly. Taking a deep breath, he set his jaw and looked back to Carl. "And I'd do it again. She was only food, like all the rest."

"Oh, Mitchell," Carl whispered and Mitchell saw the pity in his eyes.

"Isn't that just perfect!" Mitchell laughed. "You feel sorry for me." He barked another laugh, then stopped abruptly. Eyes narrowed and ice blue, he leaned closer to Carl. "Don't. Don't feel sorry for me, don't try to 'save' me. I don't need it, I don't want it, and there's nothing worth saving." He stared at Carl for several moments, until Carl looked away. Mitchell smiled as he leaned back.

"Besides, you should be worried about yourself. Wyndam is really pissed off at you and you do not wanna make him any angrier. I'm telling you this as a friend, Carl. You need to get your head sorted. He will win, and you'll be taken to him. It'll go much better for you if I can tell him that you helped me, that you came round and did the right thing."

"My 'coming round' isn't going to make any difference. He's going to do what he wants: kill me, lock me away, or destroy me like he's destroying you." Carl shrugged. "Doesn't matter, he's already decided. Helping you now won't change that. But helping them might change everything. Thanks for the concern, but my head is sorted just fine."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. Would have been nice to work with you again. Be like old times."

"It still can be," Carl said intently, leaning toward Mitchell and holding out a hand. "Come back. I'll help you. There is something worth saving in you, Mitchell. I swear to you, there is. I'll show you, prove it to you. We'll do this together."

"We will work together again. Eventually." Mitchell smiled again and started to get up. "But it will be you who comes back."

"Tell me, how do you feel?"

"What?"

"How are you feeling, right now?"

"What are you on about? I feel fine!"

"Now who's lying? I'll tell you how you feel. You're confused, you can't think straight, and you're about to crawl out of your own skin. You're a junkie in need of something but you don't know what it is. I'll bet the next fifty years of my existence that you've not fed from Wyndam for over 24 hours, and that he hasn't been in your mind since we left Liverpool. And you can't stand it. You're already feeling the withdrawal of not having his blood or his thoughts. You're feeling lost."

Mitchell didn't answer him, but felt his chest tighten another notch and the knife in his stomach twist a little deeper. Carl was right. The problem was the lack of Wyndam. _What the fuck is that?_ _And how the hell did Carl know? _Taking a deep breath, he stood up. He was not going to discuss this with Carl. He just wanted to find Nina and get the hell back to Bristol. He'd talk to Wyndam about it then.

"Think about it. Drinking Wyndam's blood. What does the thought of it do to you?" Carl asked softly. Mitchell's reaction was immediate. Saliva filled his mouth, his fangs start to extend, and his mind started to feel the sensations that came with Wyndam's blood. His eyes wanted to darken, his breath quickened, and a fine sheen broke out on his forehead. With great effort, he controlled himself, letting his fingers curl into fists while he filled himself with anger directed at Carl.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm anything but lost. Leigh is, though. It will be fun to play with her when we get back to Bristol." He looked down at Carl and let cold resolve fill his face. "Before you turn her." He smiled with satisfaction when he saw Carl swallow.

Without another word, he returned to his seat. Sitting down, he lowered his head and couldn't control himself any longer. His eyes blackened and his fangs extended and he hissed softly. Tightening his fists, he closed his eyes and drew in deep, ragged breaths. _Fuck. Wyndam's blood. What is that? This is so not happening. I am not addicted to his blood, I just like the sensations in it. That's all. Carl is just trying to mess with my mind, and I'm not gonna let that happen. I'll rip his head off first! _ Mitchell again closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat. _Stop. Just stop. Do the job. Talk to Wyndam when you get back. If need be, rip Carl's head off. _

"You all right?" Padraig asked. Mitchell nodded but didn't open his eyes.

"Yeah, just tired of all his bullshit. Keep him away from me, okay? I might just rip his head off."

"Get that," Padraig chuckled. "No worries, I'll keep him quiet. And remember, you'll have what you need soon, just keep breathing through it." Mitchell nodded, but didn't answer. He was too tired to even ask any questions.

Padraig started back to his seat, not taking his eyes off Carl. Stopping a moment, he leaned over, forcing Carl to look up.

"You really should listen to him, Carl," Padraig whispered. "He knows what Wyndam has planned for you. You won't like it. He's trying to be a friend and save you a lot of pain and suffering. You'd do best to listen to him, and come round. Otherwise…" Padraig's voice trailed off and he straightened, still looking down at Carl. They stared at each other for several moments and then Carl narrowed his eyes. Padraig nodded once and returned to his seat, a slow smile touching his lips.

ooooooo


	7. Chapter 7

_Mors mea…_

* * *

><p>Mitchell took a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair. At least the shaking had stopped and the burning had not returned. Páidí was right: there was a job to do and he needed to get it done. Find Nina. He rubbed his hand across his chest, trying to loosen the tightness that suddenly gripped him.<p>

They had just landed in Dublin and were now stopped at Wyndam's private hanger. He stood up and motioned for Carl to do the same.

"Now what?" Carl asked, but Mitchell didn't answer. Instead he exited the plane and got into the waiting car, knowing Carl would follow him.

"Where are we going?" Carl asked as he slid into the back seat behind the driver. Although sitting next to him, Mitchell didn't look at him.

"Somewhere we won't be disturbed," Mitchell said, staring out the window into the darkness. "To talk to George."

"What are you going to do?"

"Whatever it takes."

"You don't mean that. Not about George. He's still your friend."

"Carl," Mitchell kept his voice quiet and low. "Now would be a good time for you to shut up."

"Why? If you're prepared to do whatever it takes, why shouldn't we talk about it?" Carl pushed. "If you're willing to torture, or kill, your best friend, you should be okay with talking about it. So what are you going to do? Tell me."

Mitchell continued to stare into the darkness, and tried to ignore the ever increasing tightness in his chest.

"Let's think about this," Carl continued. "You have to get George to tell you where Nina is, so how will you do it? He's strong, and protecting his young and his mate. And he's willing to die for them. So how will you get him to tell you?"

Mitchell didn't answer, his throat tightly constricted. He would do whatever was necessary and Carl needed to understand that. He was in no mood for Carl's continuous bullshit.

Suddenly, he launched himself at Carl and shoved him up against the seat, wedging an arm across Carl's throat.

"Who says he's the one who's gonna tell me?" Mitchell growled at him through tightly clenched teeth. He pushed hard against Carl's throat and considered breaking his windpipe. Carl struggled against the pressure, but he just pushed harder and imagined the sound of the bone breaking. He felt his eyes flash black and his fingers tremble at the thought. Just as suddenly, he let Carl go and smiled as Carl coughed, trying to catch a breath.

"I told you," Mitchell's voice was again quiet and low. "You've no idea what I'm capable of now, so I'd really suggest you shut the fuck up."

Carl was quiet several moments, but Mitchell knew he wouldn't stay that way. Not Carl. He hissed as he heard Carl draw a breath to speak again.

"Have you given Wyndam your death pledge?" Carl asked quietly. Mitchell snapped his eyes to Carl.

"My what?"

"Shut up, Carl!" Padraig growled from the front seat. "He told you to shut up, so do it!"

"This is too important, Padraig, and you know it. Oh!" Carl gasped. "Oh my God! You do know…because you've done it! You actually gave Thomas the Mors Tua? Oh, Padraig, why? Why would you ever…?"

"Not another word." Padraig's teeth were clenched and he had turned around to glare at Carl. His fisted hand twitched on the back of the seat.

"Wait!" Mitchell put a hand out to toward Padraig, and looked at Carl. "What are you talking about?"

"Have you avowed yourself to Wyndam, given him any kind of a…pledge…sworn anything to him?" Carl turned his eyes to Mitchell.

"A pledge…what the…? No. I accepted his offer to be part of his family, that's it. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Mitchell, don't worry about it," Padraig put a hand on Mitchell's arm. "He's just trying to get in your head again. Don't listen to him. Let me shut him up!"

"No! Tell me. What the hell is he talking about?" Mitchell looked from Padraig to Carl and back again. Padraig gave a slight shake of his head and didn't answer.

"It's another level of control the Old Ones use, Mitchell," Carl filled in. "It's a way to bind you to them so completely, your life is forfeit."

"Leave it be, Carl," Padraig shook his head. "I'm warning you!"

"Padraig, shut up!" Mitchell turned to face Carl. "What are you talking about?"

"It's one of the final steps in the binding process. It requires you to give your maker ultimate power over you, the power of life and death. Your life and your death."

"Damn it, Carl, stop being so dramatic and tell me what you mean!"

"As part of the process, you -"

"Mitchell, don't listen to him," Padraig interrupted. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Tell him to shut up, and you can talk to Wyndam about this when we get back. I swear to you, it's fine. Not a big deal."

"No. I want to hear this," Mitchell said quietly. "Carl's obviously trying to get at something, and I want to know what he's talking about." Mitchell nodded at Carl for him to continue.

"Mitchell, we're here," Padraig pushed. Glancing out the window, Mitchell saw they had arrived at the warehouse. "Leave this, for now. Let's just do what needs be done, and then we can talk about this. We'll get hold of Wyndam and talk about it. But not now. Not here." Mitchell saw him glance quickly at the driver, and understood Padraig's meaning.

"Get out," Mitchell said to the driver. "Have a cigarette or something." With a curt nod, the driver left the car and walked several steps away. Twisting in his seat, Mitchell faced Carl and waited. The light from over the warehouse door allowed him to see Carl's face, and he watched intently, looking for any lie.

"I'm not sure exactly how it works," Carl took a deep breath, "but as part of the process, the Old One will require you to swear an oath to him, to pledge yourself to him, while he's inside your mind. As part of that oath, you will give him power over your life. Utter and complete capitulation and devotion, resulting in no will of your own, no independence. Every moment of your life will be controlled by your maker. You are his."

"Like being his heir," Mitchell interrupted. "Yeah, Herrick talked about this. If the maker dies, not proper dead, but in another way, the heir can bring the maker back. It's what Cara did."

"No," Carl shook his head, "not that. Being an heir is something completely different. This vow, this oath, is giving your maker the power of life and death **over you**. Your maker…Wyndam, will have a hold on your mind, your body and your will so that with a thought, he can crush you into death. He can end you with a thought."

"What? That's insane! No one can do that!" Mitchell shook his head. "I don't understand why you keep lying to me, Carl. You need to stop."

"I'm not lying. Old Ones can do this. Isn't that right, Padraig?" Carl asked not taking his eyes from Mitchell. Padraig didn't answer.

"Páidí? Is this true?"

"Mitchell, it's…no. It's not like he's making it out to be. There's so much more to it. Yes, there's a pledge, a vow. But it's a special bond between you and your maker, and considered very sacred. And honorable. It is the highest honor an Old One can give you. And it is not required. It's voluntary."

"Honorable, ha!" Carl scoffed. "Old Ones don't know what honor is. It should be _mors tua, vita mea_. Literally, your death for my life. It was a noble concept, supposed to be offered with respect and honor and gratitude. Instead, these bastards twisted it and for you, it means your death for Wyndam's life. Only when you swear it, it's _mors mea, vita tua_. You give him your death, for his life. You vow to let him kill you, for any reason, even if it's just because he feels like it."

"That's sick! Did you do this?" Mitchell was staring at Padraig. "With Thomas?" Padraig didn't answer and Mitchell sucked in his breath. "You gave him that kind of power over you? Why the fuck would you do that?"

"It's…complicated, and not something to discuss here, like this. Please, let this go and talk to Wyndam about it when we get back. It will make sense, and if at some point, down the road, far into the future, you choose to do this, he can explain it. Please, Mitchell, leave it be. It's not important right now."

"Why would you do this?" Mitchell was still staring at his friend. "Páidí, you…we…after Lianna, you swore you'd never let someone…anyone...have that kind of power of you! What the fuck did you do?"

"I told you, it's…complicated," Padraig said through clenched teeth. "And not important. This is not about me. This is about…"

"Oh shit!" Mitchell interrupted him. "You did it to protect someone, didn't you?" Mitchell sucked in another breath. "A woman! You did this for a woman you were in love with!"

"Was she human?" Carl asked quickly, looking sharply at Padraig. "Of course she was. When? When did you do this?"

"Let me get this straight," Mitchell leaned toward Padraig. "You gave Thomas, a man you despise even though he's now your maker, you gave him the power to end you with a thought? For a **human**?" Mitchell could not keep the surprise from his voice. A memory tried to push through his chaotic thoughts. He'd heard this, recently. In Barry. That night. Was that just two days ago? What was it…something about loyalty, an oath. Mitchell frowned, trying to remember exactly what it was. A moment later, it came to him.

'_You chose loyalty to your friend over your oath and loyalty to your maker, and to me.' _Wyndam had said it, to Padraig.

"Wait, this is what Wyndam meant, the other night, the 'oath and loyalty' thing, right?" Padraig didn't answer him and Mitchell remembered Wyndam's anger that night. He'd thought Wyndam, and then Thomas, was going to end Padraig because of violating this oath thing. And Padraig had been ready to die because of it. Mitchell had seen it on Páidí face: he'd been devastated that he'd disappointed Thomas and had been ready to die, had just lain there, waiting for Thomas to end him. Because of this fucking vow!

"But you said…" Mitchell's voice trailed off as he tried to understand it, tried to reconcile all that Páidí had been telling him for days now, with this information, that his friend had done this…this…insane thing, to protect a human. His breath quickened and his insides were shaking as he stared at Padraig. Images flashed through his mind of what he'd done, and of what he and Padraig had done, this past week. Anger flashed through him and he desperately wanted to hit something, or better yet, someone. "I don't…this doesn't…what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"This is not important, Mitchell!" Padraig said evenly. "What's important is that we do our job, find Nina and get back to Bristol. Carl's just stalling. This is not important, not now."

"But it is important," Carl countered. "Mitchell thinks he's made a choice, thinks he knows what he's chosen. But Wyndam is misleading him, lying to him. He has the right to know." Carl turned back to Mitchell. "Is this what you chose? What you agreed to? To allow Wyndam to control you and to end you on a whim? With a thought?"

Mitchell didn't answer and was still staring at Padraig. He vaguely heard Padraig again tell Carl to shut up, but his mind was fixated on what Padraig had been telling him all week. How good this was, this being bound to an Old One. But this…oath thing was just….up. His eyebrows drew together in a deep frown and he lowered his head, glaring up at Padraig.

"Mitchell, don't…" Padraig started, seeing the look on his face.

"Fuck!" Mitchell shouted, slamming his fist on the back of the seat near Padraig. He was rewarded with Padraig's flinching away and Carl remaining silent. After several moments, he took a deep breath and looked first to Carl, and then back to Padraig.

"Enough. You're right. This isn't important right now. But when this is done," he scowled and pointed at Padraig, "you and I **will** talk. Before we go back to Bristol. And you **will** explain this to me. All of it. Understood?"

"Yes, of course. I'll answer your questions as best I…"

"And you," Mitchell cut him off and turned to Carl, "will cut the shrink bullshit and tell me what I want to know. You will help me find Nina. Understood? Good." Not waiting for Carl to answer, he got out of the car and, anger roiling inside of him, he slammed the door shut behind him and headed for the warehouse. And George.

oooooooooo


	8. Chapter 8

What so terrifies a monster...

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><p>"But he's separated himself from Lawrence, in direct violation of your orders," Samuel said again.<p>

_That's twice._ Wyndam remained silent but his eyes narrowed as he sipped his brandy.

"And he's taken Padraig with him." Samuel seemed to take the silence as invitation to continue. Wyndam let him, knowing full well where Samuel was headed with this. _Give him enough rope._ So predictable. And disappointing.

"I don't trust him, especially with Padraig. Especially after last week. Add to that," Samuel ticked off the tip of a finger with each issue, "he can't hear you clearly right now, it's a dangerous time in the process, and Carl's jabbering in his ear. You've got the makings of an epic disaster. He can't be trusted, not yet. Perhaps," Samuel said in a softer tone, "we should recall him and let Lawrence handle this. Or me."

Wyndam smiled at the feeble play of ambition. He'd intentionally asked Samuel's opinion, to verify his suspicions. And there they were. The one-two combination. One, Samuel was thinking that despite Mitchell being bound to him, Wyndam was not in control of the situation and would fail. And two, Samuel was hedging his bets and parroting Thomas. Even though both thoughts had been suggested into Samuel's mind, neither could be tolerated.

Not for the first time, Wyndam thought it a shame he couldn't just eliminate Thomas. But that would not be…politic. At least, not politic at the moment. No, he'd have to make it clear to Samuel in another way that his doubt and questionable loyalty were unacceptable. _Damn Thomas. _

"Samuel," Wyndam asked softly while studying his fingernails. "When did you drink from Thomas?" He could feel the shock wave ripple through Samuel.

"What? I don't…I didn't…it wasn't…" Samuel broke off at the icy stare that shot his way. Wyndam had known the moment Thomas' blood entered Samuel, but he wanted to hear it from Samuel. He'd still not decided whether to eliminate Samuel. That he could do.

"The night the dogs escaped," Samuel admitted quietly. "When you were busy with Mitchell. The craving had come and was strong, but I was controlling it. Until Carl…until I was injured. I didn't want to interrupt you and would have waited, but Thomas was there and…"

"Offered?" Wyndam provided, not hiding the sarcasm. Samuel paled but nodded. _Damn Thomas to hell._

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"There just wasn't…time…it just never…didn't…" Samuel's voice trailed off, and Wyndam saw understanding finally reach his eyes. Samuel should have brought this to him and had failed to do so. There was no excuse for his behavior.

Wyndam continued to stare at Samuel for several long moments, but Samuel didn't blink and didn't look away and instead, accepted responsibility for his failing. _Good. Perhaps he can be salvaged. With an appropriate reminder._

Moving at a speed that even Samuel couldn't follow, Wyndam was on him in a flash, slamming him to the floor with a hand around his throat. He leaned over, mouth up against Samuel's left ear and hissed. Samuel clawed at the hands around his throat and thrashed, trying to throw Wyndam off, but was no match for Wyndam's strength. Wyndam simply tightened his grip.

"Your loyalty should not be in question at this point, Samuel," he hissed into Samuel's ear. "There is only one person on this planet to whom you are loyal, and that is me. If I think, for a second, that you are consciously supporting someone else, I will destroy you. Do you understand?" Samuel tried to speak but the grip around his throat had cut off his breath. "Nod if you understand. And you best pray that I believe you."

Wyndam smiled as he felt Samuel cease struggling, lay his arms out on the floor with palms up and force all muscles to relax. Keeping his mouth near Samuel's ear, he waited and then felt the slight nod from Samuel. At the same time, a hiss of breath escaped Samuel's lips.

"Yeeess…my...lord."

Wyndam smiled and pushed back so he could stare into Samuel's wide eyes. Ice blue eyes pierced down into brown as Wyndam sliced his way into Samuel's mind. Samuel opened his mouth to cry out but no sound escaped. Wyndam knew how much pain Samuel could tolerate and hit that level in less than a heartbeat. Samuel's eyes filled with tears and his mouth was open but he made no sound. With a soft nudge, Wyndam increased the pain another notch and stabbed his thoughts into Samuel's mind.

_If you ever again consider loyalty to Thomas, you will join Gareth. Do You Understand. _ He felt Samuel's complete surrender, but waited for the appropriate response.

_Nihil sine te, _Samuel's mind was filled with pain but Wyndam heard his answer clearly. _Nothing without you. I am yours, my lord. _

Wyndam held Samuel in place a moment longer, then blinked and released him. Before Samuel could take a breath, Wyndam had returned to his seat and was again leaning back in the chair, sipping his brandy. He watched silently while Samuel picked himself up from the floor and straightened his jacket and shirt collar. Wyndam could feel the residual ache in Samuel's mind but was pleased to see Samuel not acknowledge it and remain silent, waiting for an order.

"You will never again take Thomas' blood," Wyndam told him. "Or that of another Old One. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," Samuel nodded.

"You will come to me when you feel the craving and I will decide when, and if, you satisfy it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord." Another nod.

"If you in any way undermine John Mitchell again, you will join Gareth. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," Samuel blanched, but nodded.

"You will do all within your ability to see that John succeeds, or you will join Gareth. Do you understand?" A hard swallow and another nod. Wyndam raised an eyebrow and waited.

"Yes, my lord," Samuel whispered.

"Good. We shall not have this conversation again." He turned his chair, and his back, to Samuel in dismissal. "Bring Annie to me."

"Yes, my lord," Samuel answered, and Wyndam knew the words were accompanied by a low bow. He smiled as heard the door shut softly.

* * *

><p>"No," Rose shook her head and sighed. Again. "I told you. You can't rentaghost with a living thing. Tom is alive. It can't be done. "<p>

"But he's a werewolf," Annie argued for the third time, pacing the room. "Supernatural, like us. I should be able to do something with that! If I can rentaghost a vampire, I sure as heck should be able to move a werewolf!"

"No. I've tried. Or rather, Wyndam has had me try. Can't do it. They're still human, Annie. You can't just pop out with him. No matter how much you want to, you can't."

"There has to be something!" Annie stopped and stared at Rose. "Anything. Some way to hide him…get him…" her voice trailed off at the look of sadness on Rose's face. With a frustrated cry, Annie threw her hands into the air and turned away from Rose, not wanting her tears to be seen.

The knock on the door interrupted her tears, and she and Rose both turned.

"Rose, Annie. It's Samuel." Rose went to the door and after giving Annie a smile, opened the door. Samuel stood in the doorway and Annie could see the misery on his face. Great. Now what.

"Annie, Lord Wyndam would like to see you. Rose, he would like you to check on Amanda, see how she's doing with her powers." With that, Samuel took a step back and waited. Annie assumed he was waiting for her. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and started toward the door.

"Say hello to Amanda for me," Annie said as she passed Rose, giving her a brave smile.

"Be careful," Rose whispered.

Samuel didn't speak to her in the elevator, and seeing the blackness emanating from him, she was glad. Whatever had happened, Samuel was very unhappy and in a very nasty mood.

"Ahh, Annie," Wyndam said from behind his desk. Samuel did not follow her into the office, but shut the door behind her, leaving her alone with Wyndam. "How nice to see you again. Please sit down." Carefully sinking onto the edge of the chair across from his, she waited. He was smiling, and it wasn't pleasant.

"I trust you and Rose had an enjoyable and productive day?"

"Yes." She could feel his tightly controlled anger and saw the faint mist of red and black surrounding him. Whatever was wrong with Samuel was because of Wyndam. She eyed him warily.

"Good. Have you thought any more about using that power to help control werewolves?"

No wasting time, right to the point. She took a breath and nodded.

"Yes," she answered carefully. "I really don't see how I can do that. I can't read their minds or anything, so there's no way for me to get through to them."

"Oh, Annie. You do sell yourself short, don't you?" He smiled again, that smile. She really didn't like That Smile.

"Perhaps when I see Tom, talk to him, I might be able to sort this better. Figure something out."

"An A for effort," Wyndam laughed. "You'll see Tom. When I decide you can." The laughter vanished. "Now, **I **believe you just need the right motivation. I'm going to help you with that."

Annie swallowed and started to shake her head, but Wyndam held up a hand.

"I have someone I want you to meet. He's…troubled. I would like you to try to…comfort him, calm him. I think you can do so."

"Who?"

"An old…friend. Someone who has not been properly cared for and it's taken a toll."

Annie was quiet a moment, wondering who Wyndam would consider a friend. She didn't like the answer she came up with.

"A vampire."

"Yes."

"Why? Why does he need comforting and calming? Can't you just..." She left the sentence unfinished, not sure how to finish it.

"It's complicated, and not important for this exercise. Suffice it to say, he is quite agitated. So, what say you? Will you try to do this? See what you can do for him?"

"You're asking? I thought you could just order me to do something and I'd have no choice," she couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.

"You think me this horrible monster, Annie. That's not the case. We are going to work together for a very, very long time, and I want it to be beneficial to us both. It does not have to be a fight all the time. Yes, in this situation, you have a choice."

"Really?" Annie didn't believe him and her tone told him so. "And what if I say no, and choose not to try to help your friend? What then?"

"Well, then he continues to live in pain and misery and absolute terror." Wyndam said it quietly and her eyes widened at what appeared to be his sincere feelings. The red black mist around him was fading and being replaced by a deep purple. She could feel an emotion coming from him, as if he felt…compassion. She stared at him for several moments, but he didn't flinch under her gaze. She sucked in her breath when she realized he knew she was reading his aura and seeing his emotional state. He wasn't hiding it from her! He still didn't look away. He really did felt compassion for his friend. She had difficulty reconciling that to what she knew him to be. He was feeling a human emotion, for someone else. Or he was very good at faking it.

She pressed her lips together, not sure what to believe. But if he wanted something from her, she wanted something from him. Negotiate. She again remembered that night in Barry, and Mitchell negotiating with him. Mitchell. She pushed down the sudden stab of grief that ripped through her.

"Fine. But I want something in return."

"Tom."

"Yes. I want to see him, talk to him. Be in the same room with him, no guards, no eavesdropping, no you." If she was going to negotiate, start high.

"Out of the question," Wyndam shook his head.

"Then no."

"Oh Annie. You really must learn how to do this!" he barked a laugh. "I will agree to this: You get to see Tom, be in the same room with him, talk to him, and spend time with him. But there will be a guard and the surveillance of his ce…room...will remain." Annie was already shaking her head.

"That is…" she started but he cut her off.

"All I will concede. Take it or leave it."

Annie clasped her hands together and pursed her lips and lowered her eyes, considering this. She'd at least get to talk to Tom, see how he was doing. If she could just get to him...

"And," she said, raising defiant eyes to Wyndam, "I get to see him, talk to him and be with him, any time I want." Wyndam raised an eyebrow at her and one side of his mouth curled. Then he slowly nodded.

"Alright. Except when I have tasks for you to do, yes, you can see him whenever you want."

"And talk to him and be in the same room with him," she insisted, remembering his literal use of words yesterday. He threw back his head and let out a laugh.

"I knew you would be entertaining! Yes, Annie, see, talk and be with him, except when I have things for you to do. And before we drag solicitors into this, I will not have tasks for you to do every minute of every day. You will get to spend time with him."

"Fine. I'll go see him now." She stood up.

"No, not now." The laughter was gone again. "Now you will meet the man you're going to help." He stood up and came around the desk, holding an arm out. She took an involuntary step to the side but he didn't comment. Being sure not to touch him, she walked toward the door just as Samuel opened it.

"I want to say hello to Tom first."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll start crying, he'll get upset, and he's not ready for that yet. Give him a few more hours of recovery, and you can see him when you get back. Without any time constraint or task waiting to be done. How does that sound?"

_Like another damn excuse to keep me away from Tom! _ But, she'd made a deal with him, and he was right: once she got to Tom, she wasn't leaving him. Gritting her teeth, she gave a short nod.

"Good, good. Samuel, the car. We're going to see Gareth."

Annie gasped and nearly choked. At the mention of Gareth's name, Samuel physically flinched and his eyes darted from Wyndam to the floor. His aura shot out of him in a frantic blast of rotting black and putrid green. He was terrified. She started to shake from the overwhelming intensity of his fear.

_Dear God, what so terrifies a monster?_

oooooooooo


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Apologies for taking so long to continue this saga. Real Life demanded excessive amounts of attention, and would not let go - much like a werewolf with a chicken! However, the journey does continue, and in short time, we will again see where Mitchell is in his attempt to please Wyndam and retrieve George and Nina. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this latest installment...

* * *

><p>...<em>blackness and madness and weakness...<em>

* * *

><p>"Where are we?" Annie tried to see through the darkness outside the car window.<p>

"One of the more historic places in Bristol," Wyndam said as he quickly got out of the car. Samuel opened Annie's door, and she glanced around the area. They were in a small parking lot along the river and theirs was the only car in the lot.

A small incline and walkway led up to the road, where street lights illuminated the brightly painted doors of the flats lining the street. Annie hadn't been to this part of Bristol before and while still trying to take in the area, started toward the walkway leading up to the road. Wyndam's had on her elbow stopped her, and he shook his head.

"This way." He pulled her toward the right and she stumbled until Samuel lit a torch, shining the way for her. They were walking toward the brick and natural stone wall that was built into the ground, and ran along the incline and under the street. Weeds and ivy were growing alongside and on the wall.

As they neared the wall, Annie saw an arched doorway surrounded by brick, and a closed heavy wooden door. It was the door in front that made her shiver and pull her sweater tight around her. A door made of bars was fixed across the doorway. It looked like a prison cell door. Eyes wide, she glanced at Wyndam but his face was unreadable. Was this to be her new home, her new prison?

"These caves," Wyndam said softly, as though understanding her unease, "were used by vampires in the seventeenth century, as a hiding place. They were being persecuted by humans, killed in vast numbers, and these caves became a shelter for them." She heard the tightness in his tone. "For a short while. Then these too, became pits of death as the humans slaughtered my kind." She felt his fingers tighten on her elbow. "Now, we own them, and use them as we see fit. And no, this is not a prison for you."

Unsure what to say, Annie remained silent as Samuel unlocked the prison door, then the wooden door, and pushed inside. Another torch was lit and Annie could see they were indeed inside a cave carved out of stone and dirt. Or rather, a series of caves and tunnels. The walls and floor were reddish brown, hollowed out in parts, built up in others. Samuel led the way, while Wyndam followed closely behind her, reaching out occasionally to steady her steps.

As they made their way through several tunnels, Annie could feel the cold and shivered. She also heard water dripping and the sound of something scurrying along the floor. She tried not to think of what it could be. Then she heard something else. It was low and deep and echoed through the caverns, and didn't sound human. Again, she didn't want to think of what it might be, and instead, tried to keep her bearings. But it felt as though they doubled back and twisted round and veered to the right over and over and over, until there were so many twists and turns she finally gave up trying to stay oriented to the entrance. She had no choice but to trust Wyndam would not leave her here. As she stumbled again, Wyndam grasped her arms and righted her.

"Not much further," he murmured. She felt the emotion wafting from him. He was nervous. Anxious. She tried to keep the knots in her stomach from contracting, tried to retain some semblance of control, but she knew whoever, or whatever he was taking her to, was making him nervous. What could make a monster like Wyndam nervous? She couldn't control the trembling that now shuddered through her.

As they rounded the tunnel into another cavern, a force suddenly slammed into her and she was thrown backward against the cave wall. No one had touched her, but the darkness emanating from whatever lay ahead had a physical presence that was overwhelming. It reeked of death and destruction and she felt a suffocating darkness claw at her throat.

The clawing grip tightened around her throat and she gasped and gagged, struggling to draw unnecessary breath as she was choked and crushed down toward the cave floor. Wave after wave of misery and hatred and rage and despair throbbed all around her and was so heavy she could see it rippling through the air. It pounded down on to her and at her and into her and she put her hands out in a futile attempt to keep it at bay, flailing at the darkness, her nails raking through it. The grip at her throat loosened a moment and she let out a screaming wail of pain, tears pouring down her cheeks, unable to bear the depths of the misery and hatred assaulting her.

Suddenly Wyndam was standing in front of her, facing into the cave with his hands raised in front of him. He was leaning forward as though he were pushing back against whatever was bombarding her. Slowly she felt the intense black despair lessen and she was able to draw deep ragged breaths. The weight of darkness lifted from her and she was no longer being crushed down into the dirt. In the glow of the torches she saw the waves of the darkness recede and tumble away from her, and surround Wyndam. She saw him brace against them, but then he flinched as the waves became sharp strikes against him, stabbing and jolting into him. He took a step back and to the side, away from her, but then lowered his head and pushed forward into whatever was striking at him, still flinching as each one struck home.

He started hissing as the strikes became more frequent, more intense and swirled all around him. His hiss was low at first and she barely heard it. Then it grew stronger and more powerful and started to change, becoming almost a scream. The sharp black strikes against him faltered, and his hissing scream grew louder and became a roar so full of power that it would not be denied. Suddenly, the blades of blackness seemed to crumble and fall to the ground, quivering. Several tried to scramble back up onto Wyndam's legs but he continued to roar and leaned over, directing that power at the pulsing blackness, and seconds later, what remained slithered away from Wyndam and was gone. Silence fell around them, broken only by the faint dripping of water.

Leaning her head against the wall, Annie took in more unnecessary deep breaths and wiped the tears from her face. A moment later, she heard moaning sobs echo throughout the cave. Suddenly, Wyndam staggered backward and it seemed his knees gave out. He doubled over and threw his arms out to stop himself from falling. Samuel rushed to his side and grabbed him under the arm and shoulder, but Wyndam hissed at him and Samuel let go. Wyndam staggered a few more steps and slammed a hand against the wall. Taking deep breaths, hissing again, he was able to regain his balance and stay on his feet. He did not look at Annie. She didn't speak, knowing that he had taken on much more of the evil and blackness that was within this cave than she'd felt. She had no idea how he'd withstood it.

Wyndam finally turned to face her and she gasped. His eyes were solid black and the air around him shimmered with darkness. He was breathing hard and staring at her intently and took a halting step toward her. Fear gripped her and she struggled to get her feet under her. Samuel cleared his throat, and those black eyes snapped to Samuel. Wyndam's lips curled back and Annie saw his fangs extended. Hissing at Samuel, Wyndam took a step toward him but Samuel stood still and cleared his throat again. Stopping short, the hiss died on Wyndam's lips and he shook his head, as though to clear it. A moment later, his eyes were once again ice blue and he was straightening his suit jacket. He turned his head to Annie and she could still see the blackness surrounding him, but he seemed to be in control of himself. He held out a hand toward her. Cautiously, Annie took it and let him help her back to her feet.

"What was that?" her voice was barely a whisper.

"Gareth." As if that explained it all.

"I don't understand. That was not…isn't…couldn't…that was not a man, or a vampire. What was that?"

"Gareth's madness. It's what you're going to help him with."

"What? You're as mad as he is! No, no way. I am not going near that…that…no," she shook her head. "There is nothing I can do for that."

"Yes, there is. You felt it, so you can help him."

"I couldn't do anything! That was suffocating me and I couldn't do anything! You had to step in and stop it! You're the one who needs to help him, not me. No, I'm not going near that."

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you, but I couldn't. I needed to see if you would feel what comes from Gareth. You couldn't be prepared for it. Now, you are prepared and I will protect you from it, as I just did." He reached over and tried to take one of her hands but she stepped away from him. "But you felt it, all of it. Which means you can know just what he's feeling, what's in his mind, and between the two of us, we can calm him and let his rational mind reemerge. Without it, he will be this way for all of eternity, getting worse with each passing year."

"Why don't you just end him?" She couldn't believe she asked the question.

"Because this was not of his doing. He didn't deserve this, and I'd like to try to help him."

She didn't answer, not trusting herself and what she would say. Her senses were still reeling from the assault and she felt exhausted, if that was possible. Wyndam's aura was once again casting that purplish hue, telling her he was feeling compassion. She didn't believe it. She knew only too well that he could manipulate feelings in others. She'd been on the receiving end of that little talent. So she had to assume he could manipulate his own emotions to show what he wanted her to see. But apparently, he couldn't handle all the emotions, all the darkness and madness that poured from Gareth. She'd seen Wyndam have trouble withstanding the assault that Gareth let loose, and she'd seen the strikes that blackness had unleashed against Wyndam. It had physically weakened Wyndam to the point that he was almost thrown to the ground, and it did weaken him to the point that he lost control of himself for a few seconds.

Annie froze, her mind focused on the sudden thought. He lost control of himself. He was weakened. The blackness was like a weapon against Wyndam, a weapon he had trouble fighting against. Because it made him weak. A weakness! Was that possible? She forced herself to look away from him, hiding her thoughts, tucking away the scene she'd just witnessed until she could process it fully.

"Annie, I promise you. I will not let that happen again. I will continue to shield you from him, but you are the only one who can reach through all of that and find him. Please try. That's all I ask. That you try."

The sobbing she'd heard earlier increased in intensity and echoed through the caves, a high pitched hiss now added to it. As well as another sound, something low and deep, almost like a growl. She could feel the hatred behind it, and it was growing. She cocked her head to one side and closed her eyes, trying to pinpoint just what it was.

"Don't worry about it. That's Gareth now realizing that I'm here." Wyndam's smile was rueful and self-deprecating. "He's not too fond of me, for very good reason. But that is unimportant. What's important is that he recovers. Then he can decide if he wants to continue to hate me."

"Does he hate you because you did this to him?"

"No. I told you. I did not do this to him. Now, shall we?" Wyndam held out his arm, gesturing toward a passageway off to Annie's right.

She debated a moment longer, and then remembered she was doing this to get to Tom. She needed to get to Tom. With a quick nod, she followed Samuel down the passage, toward Gareth and the blackness.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you to all that have been so patient with this story, and with me. I hope you continue to enjoy.

Fair Warning for some graphic descriptions in this chapter.

* * *

><p>Seems Annie is still trying to deal with Wyndam. Perhaps she has some sapphire in her after all...<p>

* * *

><p>…<em>darkness and steel…<em>

Annie frowned as Samuel pushed back the door. It opened without a sound. She'd been expecting it to creak or groan, like in one of those old monster movies. Like the monster movie she was now living. A shiver skittered up her back as she realized just how quiet it had become. There was no whisper of air, no echo of dripping water, no scurrying of small animals in the dirt. Without looking, she knew Wyndam was unmoving. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw Samuel staring at her. Her frown deepened. They weren't behaving like monsters.

"Oh my…" she gasped. Her eyes darted to Wyndam. He stood against the far wall of the cave, his body twisted away from the door. Shoulders hunched forward and head lowered, he glared at her over his shoulder. Ice blue eyes were unblinking, frozen on her, as though looking for something but unwilling to see. Could he be…no, she dismissed the unbelievable thought.

She looked at Samuel and inhaled sharply. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his hands were clenched at his sides. He, too, was staring at her, and his tongue darted across dry lips. That thought flared again, and she realized it's truth. They were afraid! Of what was inside this room. This room that Wyndam wanted her to enter, to face what was inside. She wanted to run.

_You're already dead. Whatever it is, it can't hurt you._ She tried to convince herself.

Glancing again between Wyndam and Samuel, she willed herself to stay where she was, to not rentaghost back to Honolulu Heights and her comfy chair. Or even to Wyndam's hotel. Or anywhere that wasn't here. She shut her eyes tightly and ground her teeth against the fear that that surrounded her.

_Tom. Remember Tom. _

Taking a deep unnecessary breath, she slowly opened her eyes and found Wyndam's eyes still locked on her. She knew he was waiting for her to move into the room. Samuel gave her a slight nod, and she again reminded herself.

_Tom. _

Raising her chin, she stepped into the doorway, silently praying she could face what was inside.

"Aaahh!" The scream escaped before she could clap her hands over her mouth. Without thinking, she jumped backward against Samuel. He grabbed her arms, holding her upright and in place. Her eyes shut tight against what lay before her. Her palms ground her lips against her teeth holding back another scream. She inhaled sharply and the stench made her gag. She stopped breathing, and tried to will away the sight. After long moments, she slowly opened her eyes and felt her stomach roil and lurch.

She pushed backward against Samuel, trying to get away from the sight before her. He held her in place, not moving her forward but steadying her. She forced her mind to not think of rent-a-ghosting away. Still not breathing the smell of death and darkness, she made herself take in the scene before her. Her mind refused to understand what her eyes were seeing. It made no sense. Shaking, she shook her head in denial.

After long moments, she regained control of her body, and calmed the shaking. Feeling Samuel's hand at her back and the slight pressure urging her forward, she reluctantly took two steps into the room, and froze.

The…creature…that lay on the ground could not be alive. Or dead. Vampire or human, this could not exist. It was skeleton. With patches of skin barely covering decaying bones. Lying on its right side, facing her, she could see gray bone protruding through thin patches of ripped skin on its left cheek. What used to be lips hung in ragged bits over yellowed and blackened and broken teeth. The two incisor teeth – extended fangs - were chipped and rotting. Blackened skin stretched over sunken eye sockets. What should have been a nose was no more than a pointy beak of cartilage and shredded flesh. The scalp was dotted with bits of bone pushing through thinning and transparent skin, and a few wispy strands of black hair. This…could not exist.

Her stomach clenched and pitched in horror, wanting to vomit the image from her mind. She looked down to escape the sight of the rotting face, and saw that the creature had no arms! Her mind pushed back against the thought, refusing to believe it. She stared at where arms should have been, seeing only faded black covered with dirt.

"Oh!" She finally sorted it. The creature was wearing the remnants of a black straightjacket, its arms and hands hidden by sleeves tied at the back. Below the waist of the jacket, shredded bits of fabric that were once trousers hung over area of thinning flesh. Sharp-angled bones, stripped of skin, made up what should have been feet.

Annie tried to grasp that this rotting carcass had been a man, but her mind told her this couldn't be. It shouldn't exist. Or be alive. Or whatever vampires were. Nothing could survive this.

A soft sob escaped from Annie. Regardless of what this creature had done, no one deserved this. She rounded on Wyndam, her fear turning to anger and frustration. Silently he shook his head. Her outrage stuck in her throat, not allowed to vent. Shaking fingers curled into fists, and it long moments before she again reminded herself of Tom. Steeling her nerves against the sight, she turned back to the creature.

She took a hesitant step forward and the creature's eyes flew open. Eyes of solid white stared at her, unseeing and unfocused. Not only a skeleton, but blind. Wyndam! How could he be so cruel? She clenched her teeth. She heard Samuel clear his throat and she forced herself to exhale and open her hands.

She took another step forward and suddenly the creature's white eyes had a sharp pinpoint of black in their centers. A black mist started to form around the creature's head as shredded lips drew back in a snarl and a low hiss escaped from its throat.

Her skin crawled and she shivered. The creature hissed again and waves of the blackness rolled toward her. Crying out, she jumped to the side as the blackness shot past her. The creature's black pinpoint eyes snapped over to her. Another hiss and she could see the blackness gathering again.

She took another step toward the creature and held her hands out to it. The blackness came at her, cutting and sharp, trying to stab at her heart and her face. Instinctively, she threw her arms out in front of her for protection. A pale lavender mist emanated from and surrounded her. As the blackness sharpened and became more forceful, shooting toward her, the lavender mist turned to a deep amethyst.

_What the…?_ Annie watched as the blackness tried to cut through to her, but couldn't. Whatever was surrounding her was protecting her!

"Oh!" Annie gasped as understanding came to her. It was her own aura. She could see it, and as the creature tried over and over to strike at her, her aura grew stronger and deeper.

Suddenly, the creature's blackness pulled into itself and then launched at her with a roar. She gasped again the stabbing force was deflected around her. Her brow knitted as she concentrated on her strengthening herself, and as the deep amethyst of her aura began to pulsate, it repelled the blackness back toward the creature.

"It can't hurt me," she whispered with sudden clarity. Fear subsiding, she took another step toward the creature and began to speak softly.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you," she whispered, slowly holding out her hands to it. It hissed louder and tried to recoil from her, but it was now too weak to move. "Shhh, it's ok. I'm not going to hurt you. You need help. Let me help you."

The creature's eyes narrowed and the blackness continued ineffectively to attack her. She moved closer to the creature. Hissing snarls gave way to a threatening growl. Ignoring that, Annie slowly moved forward and knelt next to the creature's head. Annie's eyes filled with tears as the creature's growls turned to a low wail. Her aura expanded and began to envelope the creature. It groaned in pain but didn't try to pull away. Annie didn't move.

A deep and visceral moan, filled with pain and despair, came from the creature. Annie made to pull away but the creature rolled its head closer to her leg. She realized it was trying to move deeper into the amethyst haze. She willed her protection to cover the body of the creature and gently embrace it. Its moan turned to a soft sob of pain filled with relief.

"Shhh, it's alright. It'll be alright. I'm going to help you." She slowly reached out, willing herself to touch the creature despite her revulsion. Her fingers trembled as she gently brushed against the creature's sparse hair. Like a mother comforting a sick child, she slowly stroked its head, all the while softly talking to it. The creature tried to nestle its head deeper against her leg, but Annie only felt a light pressure. It was too weak to do more. Moving slowly, Annie shifted closer to the creature and gently lifted its head into her lap while softly murmuring to it.

"You're safe now. I'm going to take care of you. It's alright. It's ok. Easy now. I'm going to help you." She kept repeating her words, speaking softly and stroking the creature's head. She could not bring herself to touch its face, afraid the slightest pressure would pull the remaining skin from its bones. The creature closed its eyes, and she felt it slowly relax. Its wails subsided and the shaking slowed until it seemed to be asleep.

Glancing over her shoulder toward the door, Annie felt Samuel slowly enter the room. She heard a noise and a moment later, an object rolled up against her hip. Looking down, not taking her hands from the creature's head, she saw a glass vial filled with a dark fluid.

"Give it to him," Samuel silently mouthed the words before backing slowly out of the room.

Annie continued to whisper softly to the creature, giving it comfort and stroking its head. Reaching down with her right hand, she picked up the vial. It was cold and its contents were red. Pulling out the cork stopper with her teeth, she smelled rust and salt and something she couldn't identify. Blood of some kind, but not human blood. At the same moment, the creature's mouth flew open but its eyes remained closed. Annie tilted the vial and let the blood run into its mouth. The moment the blood touched teeth and skin, the creature's eye's snapped open and it roared weakly and tried to pull away from her.

"No, it's ok. You need this, drink it. It will help you, I promise," she whispered, holding its head steady as she slowly poured the blood into its mouth. She could see it wanted to fight against the blood, against her, but then instinct won out and the creature swallowed greedily. Too soon, the vial was empty and she tossed it behind her. The creature licked the rotting flesh of its lips, taking in every drop of the dark red fluid. Its eyes closed and its mouth continued to suckle on the taste of the blood. She felt the creature's shoulders stop shaking. She watched as its breath slowed until its chest was not moving, just as Mitchell's would cease to move, and she knew the creature was in a vampire's sleep.

After several moments, she slowly and gently lifted the creature's head from her lap and laid it back on the ground. Her aura disappeared as quickly as it had come. The creature didn't stir.

She rose to her knees and continued to watch the creature, her sympathy growing. It was so close to death, its face so much bone and ragged bits of skin.

"Ahhh!" she suddenly gasped. The skin over the creature's left cheek was growing - repairing itself, generating and covering the exposed bone. Unable to look away, she watched as bone disappeared behind translucent skin. The ragged and torn skin of its lips started to repair, knitting together and forming the shape of lips. In moments, full lips covered the teeth and blackened fangs, and the semblance of a face began to take shape. She stared wide-eyed as the rotting flesh of the nose seemed to grow. In the span of a few breaths, the skin had turned a dark brown. Flesh grew and expanded over the eyes and forehead, and she could now see the face that the bones revealed. This was Gareth. The blood was healing him, restoring him before her eyes. How was that possible, so quickly, so thoroughly? She leaned in to better see what was happening.

She jumped as she felt hands suddenly grab her from behind. She looked up to see Samuel standing over her.

"Come. We must leave. Let him heal. You can return later."

She considered saying no, but felt exhaustion flood through her. She let Samuel help her up and she stumbled out of the room, finally collapsing against the clay wall across from the door. Wyndam stood watching her, still silent and unmoving.

"How?" she finally whispered. "How could you do that to someone? One of your own?"

"I told you, I did not do this to him. I am trying to restore him."

"I don't believe you," Annie shook her head. "You should have killed him. This is...barbaric. You truly are a monster."

"One day, you will know the truth. For now, thank you for helping him. It's time to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, ever again," she found her voice and her anger. "You are…I don't even have words. To leave someone like this. I will do nothing for you. Nothing!"

Before she could blink, she felt Wyndam's fingers digging into her arms, his face just inches from hers. He hissed at her through tight lips.

"You forget. I own you. You will do as I say. You have no choice." Just as suddenly, he was again standing several feet away from her. "And in case you think I'm a monster, perhaps you should speak to your precious Mitchell. He left one of his own down here to starve to death, after smashing the fangs out of her mouth. With a stone." Annie shook her head, not believing him.

"Oh yes, this is true. John left Cara down here to starve to death, much like Gareth has been doing. And," Wyndam's lips curled into a cruel smile, "John did this so the Bristol vampires would declare him their king."

Annie gasped. Tears welled in her eyes and her hands clenched in fists. She shook her head and opened and shut her mouth several times.

"You lie!" she finally shouted. "Cara was at the house, she didn't die down here." Annie lifted her chin defiantly. She would not fall for the game Wyndam was playing, trying to turn her against Mitchell. Wyndam laughed softly.

"Oh yes," Wyndam nodded, "John sent someone to rescue her. Only after he decided he needed her - to resurrect Herrick. Did your Mitchell forget to mention that? It's all true, Annie. He was made king of the Bristol vampires, after he had George kill Herrick. And then…well, how interesting. It seems John didn't want you to know him very well after all. You can ask him yourself when he returns from his assignment." Wyndam chuckled again and shook his head. "But enough. For now, I made you a promise. Come. I'll take you to Tom." Wyndam turned and walked away from her.

Annie didn't move even though Samuel gestured for her to follow. Tom. She'd finally be able to see Tom. That's what she needed. Pushing away from the wall, she squared her shoulders and set aside any thoughts of Mitchell. She would remind Wyndam of this day when she proved him wrong. Nodding, she stepped forward.

Yes, she would remind him. As she destroyed him.

ooooooooooooo


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: To those dedicated readers, thank you for your patience. I know it's been a while, but the war continues and Mitchell is determined. So is Wyndam.

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><p><em>Quod oculus <em>_non videt __se_

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><p>Mitchell flexed his fingers several times, opening and closing his fists. Punching Carl or Páidí wouldn't solve anything, but he'd feel better. <em>Who the hell do they think they are, making up this shit! <em>

_Wyndam can kill with a thought? That's fucking mad! _He shook his fingers again. _But Páidí did __**something**__, gave Thomas some kind of power. What the hell? Why didn't he tell me? Shit!_ Wrenching open the door designated for employees, he stomped inside, trying to ignore the increasing tightness in his chest and the burning in his veins.

He'd lost touch with the Dublin vampires, but knew they owned the warehouse. Strategically located near the airport, it was surrounded by several acres of vacant land, also owned by the vampires. Security cameras and the view from the second floor provided surveillance of the entire area. The generic Snow & Sons sign revealed nothing of the building's true function. At the moment, the large roll-down warehouse door was closed, and the parking lot was empty save for their car.

Inside, the warehouse was nothing special: gray concrete floors, no ground floor windows, and dozens of crates and boxes clustered and stacked throughout. Tool chests lined the right wall, next to a drinks machine. A dim light toward the back was likely an office.

Inside, near the doors, sat a dark blue van with the same silver W logo as on the jet. Mitchell raised his eyebrows. _Wyndam's reach is long. _

A tall, blond man dressed in an Airport Security uniform hurried toward them from the office area.

"Mitchell?" he offered his hand. "I'm Ryan."

"Yeah," Mitchell said. "Padraig," Mitchell motioned with his head. He didn't bother to introduce Carl.

Ryan shook Padraig's hand. "Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you two, and your adventures." He grinned at them, ignoring Carl.

A muffled sound escaped from the inside the van. Mitchell started as the faint sound of a heartbeat - no, two heartbeats - reached his ears. He frowned at Ryan, waiting. Ryan's smile broadened as he strode to the van and, with a flourish, pulled open the rear doors.

"Thought you and Padraig might need some refreshment after your trip," he laughed. Inside sat two blindfolded women, one dark haired, the other a redhead. Their hands were bound. The dark one's head lolled against her chest, the other had slumped over onto her side.

Mitchell strained to hear their heartbeats. Their pulses were sluggish and their breathing shallow. _Drugged._ No matter. Drawing a deep breath, the scent of their blood flooded through him. He licked his lips. Even the faint heartbeats made his mouth water and his fangs ache. He drew close, Padraig shadowing him.

"Mitchell, don't," Carl said loudly. "This is not what you're here for."

"Shut the fuck up," Mitchell hissed.

"No!" Carl grabbed him by the arm. "George is here. You need to see him and find Nina." Mitchell looked at his arm, then raised solid black-blue eyes to Carl.

"Let go."

"Please," Carl slowly removed his hand, "let's just go talk to George."

"Ryan," Mitchell pushed Carl aside, "if Carl tries to stop me again, take him out." Ryan nodded and stood in front of Carl.

Mitchell looked down at the two women, Padraig hovering at his shoulder. The redhead was unconscious and Padraig was fixated on her, waiting for permission.

The dark-haired one was awake. Or rather, she was semi-conscious. Despite the blindfold, her breath quickened briefly as he stared at her. He didn't need to feed, but the blood was calling. He watched the slow pulse point in her neck, the faint rise and fall of her skin. Fangs extended, he leaned in. A soft moan escaped from her lips and her head fell back against the side of the van.

He glanced at her face, taking in her pale dry lips and the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. She drew a ragged breath and moaned again. He smiled at the thought of her blood in his mouth, the taste of it flowing over his tongue and down his throat. He could drain her in one pull, or savor her for hours, drinking her life away drop by drop. He could do what he willed with her. She was helpless. He lowered his mouth, fangs sharp and tingling with anticipation.

He caught the aroma of the drug on her skin. Cold rippled through him and he froze, fangs brushing her skin. She was helpless. Icy fingers crawled down his spine and into his gut. She was helpless. His stomach lurched. _She's helpless._

Just as he'd been.

His fangs instantly retracted and he stepped back. Slapping a hand against Padraig's chest, he pushed him away from the redhead. Padraig hissed, but Mitchell shook his head.

"No, not like this," he said quietly, eyes once again icy blue-brown. "George and Nina first." Padraig drew a deep breath and his black eyes returned to normal.

Mitchell turned to Ryan, avoiding Carl's questioning gaze.

"Where is he?" Mitchell snapped. The smile left Ryan's face and he quickly shut the van doors.

"This way."

Passing through a maze of crates and boxes, some of which were opened, Mitchell saw wooden slats, straw and broken bottles scattered about. Dried blood stains littered the floor, but the aroma was off, not quite human. His nose wrinkled at the strong smell of industrial cleaner. Taking a breath through his mouth, he caught a scent of…werewolf? Panic flashed through him. _It better not be - no, this was old, not fresh._

A crowbar sat atop an open crate, and inside, broken bits of wood lay near glass bottles filled with a dark liquid. It looked like blood, but that wouldn't make sense. _Why would they be shipping blood? _It reminded him of Herrick's smuggling operation during the War.

"Here he is," Ryan said. Two vampires dressed as Garda loomed over a man sitting on the floor.

"This is Bill, and Alec," Ryan said. Mitchell nodded but kept his eyes on their prisoner.

"Hello, George."

"Mitchell." George's tone was calm and resigned. His elbows were splayed out at an awkward angle, his hands tied behind his back. A swollen and bloodied lip was minor compared to the large gash on his forehead.

"Get me a chair, and untie him," Mitchell ordered. "And bring a towel." With gloved hands, Bill untied George.

Mitchell watched as George remained on the floor, rubbing his reddened and bruised wrists. His knuckles were scraped and raw, and dark purple bruises covered his neck.

"You okay?" Mitchell asked, taking the chair from Ryan and sitting in front of George.

"Does it matter?" George carefully pressed the towel to the cut on his forehead. "See you're still wearing Wyndam's eyes. He really own you now?" Mitchell smiled and shrugged, but didn't answer. "Yeah, well, you always wanted to be on _The Apprentice_."

"Where is she?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Carl moved toward George, but Padraig grabbed his arm.

"Carl?" George asked with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"He's with me," Mitchell answered, giving Carl a warning look.

"Now who's lying?" Carl retorted. "Are you okay?" George nodded, but frowned.

"You are with me, Carl," Mitchell continued. "You told us he was coming to Ireland, and here we are."

"What? What…what…you what?" George scrambled to his feet, his voice rising with him. "You told him? Why?"

"It's complicated. I had to, to protect Leigh. I told him I arranged for you to go to Cork. Why did you change the plan?"

George started to speak, then closed his mouth, lips pressed together.

"Don't lie, Carl," Mitchell kept his eyes on George. "He knows the truth, that you're with me."

"Yeah, well, now you know why I changed the plan," George leaned against the wall. "Can't trust a vampire. He killed the man he supposedly loved, so how could I ever trust him? I assumed he'd betray us."

"I wouldn't betray you," Carl held out his hands, palms up. "The vampires just happened to be searching the airport when you showed up."

"You really expect me to…Forget it, doesn't matter." George looked at Mitchell. "Wish I could say it was nice to see you again."

"Same. You've put me in a difficult position. You shouldn't have run," Mitchell said softly. "Now, we need to get Nina, and get back to Bristol, make sure you're both protected. Where is she?"

"How's things with your new boss? Find it hard to believe that you'd kill one just to become slave to another."

"Nice try," Mitchell smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "This is so unnecessary. One of you," Mitchell looked over his shoulder at Carl, "will tell me where she is. One way or the other."

"I told you, I don't know where she is," Carl answered. Mitchell raised his eyebrows at what he knew to be another lie.

"Neither do I," George said. "I didn't want to know. Plan worked, too," he nodded, "got you looking at me, not her."

"Why do you both think you can lie to me?" Mitchell shook his head. "George. Please. We both know you wouldn't leave her alone. Don't make me hurt you. Just tell me."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one who's changed. Thanks to your new boss, I will do whatever it takes to protect her. Including leaving her. So take your threat and shove it!"

"Then I don't need you, do I?" Mitchell heard Carl's gasp, and watched as George opened and closed his mouth several times.

"I guess you don't," George finally said. "Go ahead, kill me. Get that pat on the head from your boss. But you'll never find her."

Carl tried to step between them, but Padraig held him in place. After a brief struggle, Carl stilled.

"Fine! Let go!" he hissed. "Mitchell, listen to me, you still need him. When we find Nina, you'll need him. To get her to surrender, or to make sure she doesn't hurt the baby. You need him. Alive."

"What the hell are you doing, Carl?" George demanded.

"Saving your life."

"No! I'm not going anywhere with him, and I will **not** help him find Nina. So you go ahead, Mitchell. If you've got it in you, go ahead and kill me. Right now."

"Shut up, George! You don't know who he is now. For your child's sake, shut up!"

"ENOUGH!" Mitchell shouted. Raking his fingers through his hair, he shook his head. "Jesus, you two are unbelievable. Enough of this bullshit. Where is she. One of you tell me, or someone's gonna die."

Mitchell stared at George, but saw the stubborn set of his jaw. So be it. _Stupid dog. _

Mitchell swiveled around and waited, watching Carl struggle to come up with a plausible answer. He raised his eyebrows in question, but Carl just shrugged. _So fucking stupid._

"Ryan, do it so George's body sends a message to the others."

Ryan pulled on a pair of gloves and grinned, stepping forward. George pushed away from the wall, fists raised.

"Don't worry, George," Carl said, keeping his eyes on Mitchell. "He knows you're his friend. He won't kill you."

"But they will," Mitchell answered. He smiled when Carl's eyes widened. Mitchell might have trouble killing George, but Ryan would do it with relish - for the approval it would garner him, and just for the sake of killing a werewolf.

"Don't do this," Carl whispered. Mitchell didn't blink. "You'll never be able to live with it."

"Come on, mutt," Ryan laughed, "no last bone for you!" As Bill and Alec took up positions on either side of George, Ryan reached for him.

"Fuck you!" George swung at Ryan, but missed. In moments, he was subdued, his arms twisted behind his back and held by Alec.

"Stop it!" Carl yelled.

"Only one thing will save him," Mitchell said softly.

"You won't do this," Carl shook his head.

"Let's go, dog." Ryan motioned toward the door.

Sniggering, Alec shoved George to the ground, kicking him in the ribs. George gasped, his arms clutching his middle.

"Crawl, dog!" Alec hissed, kicking him again while the others laughed. Mitchell said nothing.

"Enough. Let's go," Ryan hauled George upright. Bent over and gasping for breath, George yelped when Alec again pinned his arms behind his back.

"Okay, okay! Stop this!" Carl shouted.

"Shut up!" George squeaked. Mitchell held up his hand, looking at Carl.

"Damn you." Carl sighed. "I don't know where she is, I swear it. But I know she came to Dublin, with him."

"Shut the fuck up!" George shouted, struggling against Alec.

"I can't, George. We need you too much."

"Who has her?" Mitchell demanded.

"I don't know that either," Carl shook his head. "Wouldn't be very safe for her if I did, would it?"

"That means," Mitchell turned to George, "she left the airport before you. With who?"

"Go to hell," George growled.

"Already been. Ryan, where is she?"

"I don't - we were on our way to check arriving flights when the dog literally fell into me," Ryan shook his head. "As soon as we had him, we searched for her. The entire terminal, all the cars, taxis, coaches - there was no sign of her. They must have already gotten her away." Mitchell didn't answer but his hands curled into fists. "I swear, she wasn't there."

"Shit!" Mitchell turned away and paced a few steps before turning back to Ryan. "Get the security tapes. Find out who met them, who she's with, and how they left." Ryan nodded. "Now! Move, move!" Mitchell shouted, and Ryan and Bill ran for the door. Mitchell put his hands on his hips and swore again.

"Stop this," Carl said. "We're your friends. Let us help you. Wyndam has turned you into what you never wanted to be. We can get you away from him. Please!" Carl held out his hand. "I can help you be free of him. You don't deserve this."

"Shut up." Mitchell scowled at Carl, then turned his back and walked away.

Pain suddenly burned through his chest and he doubled over. Hands pressing against his chest, he stopped breathing. _Fuck! What the…? _Taking slow shallow breaths, he tried to control the burning. Long moments passed. _Damn it, concentrate. Nina. Just find Nina. _ Lifting his head, he stared at the ceiling.

"Mitchell!" Padraig whispered. "Mitchell!"

He finally looked at Padraig and moved toward the door, motioning for Padraig to follow him.

"Watch them," he said to Alec, pointing at George and Carl. "If either of them moves, kill George." Alec pushed George to the floor and stood over him.

Mitchell moved farther away, keeping his back to the others. Padraig followed but his eyes remained on Carl and George.

"It's burning again," Mitchell said in a low tone. "What's wrong?"

"What?" Padraig's voice was full of surprise. "I don't know. It shouldn't be, not yet. Have you reached out to Wyndam?"

"I can't hear him."

"Really?" More surprise.

"Quiet! Yeah, I can't hear him, at all. Why?"

"Huh. I don't know, maybe you're too far away," Padraig whispered. Mitchell looked at him sharply, and Padraig nodded. "Sometimes, when we're new to being their protégé, there can be a distance barrier. I've heard of it, but never seen it happen."

"Shit," Mitchell raked his fingers through his hair. "You said we couldn't get away from them. No matter where we went, they'd always be in our minds!"

"The longer you're bound, the stronger the link. But maybe not now. Maybe it's too new for you."

"What about Thomas, for you, right now?"

"It's there, but very faint, like a constant hum. I'd have to use a mobile to actually talk to him. But remember, he's much younger and weaker than Wyndam. And I'm working with you right now, so Thomas is staying quiet. I assumed with Wyndam being so strong, he'd be able to reach you no matter where you went."

"Yeah, well, you assumed wrong! Shit."

"Look, I know you're pissed off at me, but this is too important for that to get in the way. You'll hear him when you need to. For now, ring him. That's why he gave you the mobile. He knows this is difficult, so he's made himself available to you, whenever you want."

"I can't. I can't show him that I'm…he warned me not to disappoint him again." Mitchell wrapped his arms around his chest.

"Better to call than screw this up." Padraig shrugged at Mitchell's scowl. "Look at it this way. This werewolf baby has never happened before. Ever. And he's entrusted it's recovery to you. He knows you can do this, but has made it clear that he's available to you. So don't let your thick head get in the way!"

Mitchell considered his options. He couldn't call Wyndam and look weak. He had to show that he could handle this. Hell, he had to show himself he could do this. _Shit!_ He was shaking inside again, being crushed by the vise gripping his chest and the fire in his veins. Anger flared and he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from hitting something.

_That arse Ryan, letting Nina get past him! Padraig – should have told me this shit before we left! Damn Carl trying to fuck with my mind, George lying to me! I should kill them both just for lying to me! If I didn't need them to find Nina, I just fucking rip their…_

Inhaling deeply, he pushed the images away. This was doing no good. Taking the mobile from inside his jacket, he stared at it for several moments. Padraig nodded when he looked up.

"Shit!" He jumped when the mobile rang. Only Wyndam and Lawrence had this number. Seeing the number, he winced. _Wyndam. Of course._ Stomach in knots and the fire in his veins spreading, he stared at the mobile. Padriag nodded again, then stepped aside as Mitchell opened the phone.

"Hello, Wyndam."

"John. Thought I'd check in, see how things are progressing."

"We've got George, but Nina wasn't with him. I've sent Ryan to get the airport surveillance tapes, find out who picked her up. We're close, and we'll find her."

"Good, that's good news, John. I'll expect you to have her soon."

_Damn._ Mitchell grimaced at the reminder to not disappoint.

"How's it going with Carl? I assume he's been trying to persuade you to abandon your new family."

"He's been trying."

"I can imagine." Wyndam's tone was sharp. "Don't listen to him, John. I don't know what he's telling you, but whatever it is, he's trying to turn you against me, against your family. Do not listen to him."

"No, of course not." Mitchell took another step away from the others.

"I know you're out of sorts at the moment," the sharpness was gone, "but that's to be expected. I'm sending Lawrence to help you. When he arrives, Carl is to be sent to me. You focus on Nina."

"But Carl knows the entire network here, and can lead us to her," Mitchell countered. "He can still help us. I'll get him to tell me what he knows. Trust me."

"I do trust you, John. I don't trust Carl, and neither should you."

"What about Leigh? Carl will want to talk to her," Mitchell was again running his fingers through his hair, his stomach twisting.

"She's still here. You need to stay focused, John. When Lawrence arrives, I want you to feed. He'll arrange it."

"That's not necessary, Wyndam. I'm fine."

"You will feed, John." Mitchell heard the order behind the words.

"Understood," he couldn't keep the annoyance from his voice. "Anything else?"

"Yes." There was a long moment of silence, and Mitchell frowned, wondering if he'd missed something. Finally, Wyndam spoke.

"Do you remember asking me why I chose you? Why I didn't choose someone else who would jump at what I offered?"

"Yes." Mitchell wasn't sure where Wyndam was going with this.

"It's because you are my family, of my blood."

When Wyndam didn't elaborate, Mitchell sensed that he should know what that meant. Instead, his chest was being crushed and his body felt on fire.

"Ah, yeah, I know, Wyndam. You're my maker now, I understand."

"Not just that. You are of **my** blood, John. There are only a select few to whom I offer this. Remember that. You **are** my family. As is Lawrence."

"Yeah, ok." Mitchell closed his eyes and rubbed his temple, trying to relieve the burning.

"Good," Wyndam said quietly. "For now, Lawrence will help you. When he arrives, he'll help you do one additional thing."

"Wha…" Mitchell cleared his throat. "What's that?"

"You will feed from him."

"What?" Mitchell's head snapped up. "NO!" he shouted, anger erupting. "No way!" Feed from another vampire, someone other than his maker? No way. And Lawrence? No fucking way!

Padraig turned at his shout and started toward him, but Mitchell waved him off. Alec took a step toward them.

"Yes, you will," Wyndam's voice was calm. "You've asked me to trust you. You must do the same for me. I may not be there, but I know what you need, John. You will do this." Another unspoken order.

"Wyndam, I don't…" he started to argue.

"This is not open for discussion, John. You **will** do this."

He heard the sharpness in Wyndam's voice and felt a faint push against his mind, a reminder. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block the insistent push. Not surprisingly, the pressure increased until he had no choice but to yield to it. He gasped at the sudden onslaught, and then felt it soften. Had he really been wanting this just a few moments ago?

"You will do this," Wyndam repeated.

"Whatever you say," he answered flatly. He'd deal with Lawrence. This was not going to happen.

"Don't be angry, John. This will allow us to better communicate. It will help you."

Mitchell didn't answer, not trusting himself to speak.

"You will do this, John. Give me your word." The push came again, and Mitchell felt the fire spread in his chest.

"This isn't necessary."

"Yes, it is, John. I'm waiting."

"How about we discuss this when I get back? I have questions. I'm not sure…what's happening…" The fire erupted upward and into his mind, and he cried out, his hand clutching his head.

"John, you need my blood. Lawrence is the best I can do right now. Therefore, you will do this. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Mitchell ground out between clenched teeth.

"You will do this. I'm trusting you, John. Give me your word."

"Yes."

"Good. And John? I'm so delighted that we're family. And we **are** family. Remember that," Wyndam's voice was soft and even, and as Mitchell heard it, the fire tempered to a slow burn.

"Having you by my side, part of my family," Wyndam's voice was gentle, almost caressing, "means more to me than you could know."

The burning faded to embers, and a whisper of comfort echoed through Mitchell. His anger waned and his fingers uncurled from the hair he'd been clenching.

"I'm so pleased you chose to be of my family, John." It was almost a whisper.

Mitchell felt the calm take hold. His chest relaxed, the final embers died and his remaining anger vanished. Relief flooded through him.

"I am, too," he said quietly.

"Good. Lawrence will be there soon."

The line went dead, and he closed the phone. It was true: he did need Wyndam's blood. With a jolt, he also realized Wyndam was right about Carl – he was creating too many problems and needed to go. But first Carl **would** tell him about Nina and the network protecting her.

"So, Carl," he didn't turn around but glanced sideways and grinned at Padraig. "Are you gonna tell me what I want to know, or does George pay for your -"

A body – _Carl!_ – plowed into him, arms clamping about his chest, slamming them both to the ground. The breath punched out of him as Carl's weight landed across his back. Forehead cracking against the wall, pain exploded behind his eyes. Twisting, he thrashed at Carl as a fist hammered into his jaw. He glimpsed George – _what's in his hand?_ - rushing Padraig. _No!_ Carl grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his head forward then smashing it against the floor. Once. The sticky wetness of blood ran down his neck. Twice. His eyes rolled back in his head. Again and again.

Blackness took him.

oooooooooo


	12. Chapter 12

_**ATROX RES FAMILIARIS**_

* * *

><p>"Now what?" George was sat at the table, raw and bruised hands cupped around a mug of now cold tea.<p>

"Now," Carl drew a deep breath, "we convince him."

"Can't you just do, you know, whatever Wyndam did?"

"No, he has to want it. Otherwise, I'll just be another Herrick, or Wyndam." Carl shook his head. "No, it truly has to be his choice this time."

"How? How do we get him there?"

"No idea."

Carl absently twirled a spoon on the table. What happened next would literally mean the difference between life and death, and not just for him. For Leigh, George, Nina, the baby, all the werewolves. Hell, the entire network he'd built. Pushing back his chair, he paced about the small kitchen, finally stopping at the sink and staring out the dirt-streaked window. They'd made it to the safe house without incident, and were now on the outskirts of Dublin, isolated and far from searching eyes. The field behind the house was brown and sparse, winter having taken its toll. The long drive from the road to the house was lined with seemingly dead sticks that, in the heat of summer, would bloom with roses. But summer's rain and warmth had not yet arrived, and all appeared dead and lost. _Like me._

_Is Mitchell dead, too? Has Wyndam killed every shred of humanity Mitchell so desperately clung to, even through all the horrors? Would he ever accept that his life, **this** life, was valuable? That he could, indeed, be human? _Carl sighed.

_How do I do this? How do I do this and not lose myself?_

"What about the other one?" George asked. "He's dangerous. His keeper will find him."

"Keep him sedated." Carl turned around. "As long as he's out, Thomas can't track him."

"I thought Thomas was an Old One, like Wyndam. Why can't he find his – what's it called? – protégé?"

"Thomas isn't strong enough. I heard Padraig say there's some kind of distance barrier, that Thomas isn't connected to him now. We need to keep it that way."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather be rid of him," George grumbled. "He's too much a threat."

"He's one of Mitchell's oldest friends, and the closest to someone Mitchell trusts right now. We may be able to use that. Just keep him sedated until I see how things go."

George looked miserable, and afraid, but Carl steeled himself. They **did** need Padraig. Not only as leverage, but his well-known conflict with Thomas might prove useful.

"He should be awake by now." Carl pushed away from the counter.

"Want me to go with you?"

"No, I think I better go alone. He's so fixated on you and Nina, you'd only feed his anger."

"Okay. If you need help..." George's voice trailed off.

Carl watched George lower his head and stare into his mug, his anguish almost palpable. He'd been through so much already - separated from his wife and unborn child when they needed him most, losing Annie, his best friend betraying them, and now every vampire in the UK hunting him. It was amazing George was still coherent. And still, despite everything he'd been through, he cared about Mitchell, even loved him. Carl's stomach lurched at the too familiar pain of having loved someone so dearly. _Until you killed him._

Pushing away the dark thoughts, Carl unlocked the basement door and started down the dimly lit stairs. Time to begin.

###

Pain. His head was pain, held in a vise, grenades exploding between his ears, the concussion ricocheting through every cell. Mitchell groaned, trying to sort why he was back on the battlefield. He couldn't hear beyond the explosions, and his eyes wouldn't cooperate. _Open._ Squinting, he tried focusing through slits. _There. Light. Focus._ The world tilted as another grenade went off in his skull and his eyes snapped shut. _Don't move_. _Breathe._ Several long moments – or was it days? – later, the grenades quieted, hammers taking their place. _Open._ Cooperation this time, despite the ice picks stabbing his eyes. _Move._ Nothing. _Move._ He heard a sound from above. His eyes sought out his right hand. _Move. Move!_ Nothing. Exhausted, pain again ricocheted through his brain and his head fell back, blackness swallowing him.

###

"Mitchell, wake up." Voice in the distance. "Mitchell. Come on, wake up." Closer. Pain still rattled through his head, but softer. He again told his eyes to open, and the left one complied. Then the right. _Focus._

"That's it. Come on. Wake up." The voice was familiar. Relief came from the cold pressed against his forehead, his cheeks. "Mitchell." He did know that voice. _Carl. _

"Where am -" the whisper caught in his throat.

"You're safe. Now wake up!"

Responding to the commanding tone, he brought his head up and widened his eyes, forcing them to focus. The brightness stabbed into his eyes and he jerked away from the onslaught of pain.

"Sorry, I'll turn it down."

"What's going on?" he rasped, looking up at Carl as the light dimmed.

"Here, drink this. It'll help." A mug was held to his lips. He could smell the blood but didn't drink. He remembered.

"What're you doing?"

"It's okay. Here," Carl took a sip from the mug. "I'm not going to poison you."

The mug was offered again, and Mitchell took a gulp. Then another. In a moment, the minefield in his skull quieted. He tried to stand up.

"Are you kidding me?" He jerked at the ropes holding his wrists and ankles to the chair. "Cut me loose!"

"Not yet," Carl turned away and set the mug on a small wooden table.

Mitchell peered round the room. The walls were gray concrete block, a single light overhead. He was facing a door. The table was off to his right, a chair next to it. Carl dragged the chair over to sit across from him. They were alone.

"Carl, whatever this is, you need to stop. Right now. Cut me loose, and we'll forget this, not mention it to Wyndam. Come on," he motioned with his head, "cut me loose."

"I can't do that. Not yet. We need to talk about something first."

"There's nothing to talk about. You need to let me go, and get back to finding Nina."

"What if I told you that you don't have to find Nina?"

"You mean she's here? Great, let's get her and head back to Bristol." Mitchell rattled the chair.

"No," Carl shook his head. "She's not here. But you don't need to find her. I can help you be done with Wyndam, with the Old Ones, with this…madness you never wanted. Let me help you be what you've always wanted to be. Let me help you be human again."

Mitchell didn't answer, not sure he'd heard correctly. He chuckled at the earnest look in Carl's eyes.

"You really expect - ?" Laughter rumbled deep in his chest, then finally erupted into loud guffaws.

"You think that's what I want? To be human?" he laughed again. "Man, have you got it wrong! That's the last thing I want! Don't you get it? Humans are weak, self-centered, arrogant hypocrites! They're…**they're** the monsters! Why would I want to be like them?"

"You're lying." Carl's voice was even. "You've always wanted to be human. That's why you befriended George, took a job, renounced blood, and got the Bristol vampires off blood. Why you let George tear Herrick apart. And why you killed Herrick. You've always wanted what Herrick stole from you. A human life."

Mitchell laughed again, shaking his head.

"That's what I'm offering you," Carl continued. "The chance to be human, have that life you want. To **not** be the monster."

"You really don't get it, do you?" Mitchell leaned forward, his eyes snapping to solid blue-black. "**This **is what I am, **this** is the life I get, and **this** is what I want." He sat back and his eyes returned to blue-brown. For a moment, Carl's face blurred and he shook his head, clearing his vision. "I don't want what you offer. Now untie me." His vision blurred again and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, the room was once more in focus.

"You don't know what you want." Carl stood up, moving the chair aside. "Wyndam has so screwed up your head, you don't have any idea. But you will. I'm going to give you a choice. I think you'll make the right one." Carl turned toward the door.

"Where are you going? Untie me!" Mitchell demanded, struggling against the ropes. "Don't do this, Carl. I'm warning you. You've no idea what Wyndam will do to you. Let me go. For your own sake -" the room tilted sideways and Mitchell's stomach lurched at the dizziness.

"I'll be back later, and we'll talk."

"Carl!" Mitchell shouted as Carl closed the door. The room swam before his eyes, and he knew he'd been drugged. "Damn you, Carl!" he yelled, but his voice trailed off and his head lolled forward. "I'll kill you," he whispered before sleep took him.

###

"Let me go. Now," Mitchell said through clenched teeth. "I'm warning you, untie me, right now, or I will kill you, the hell with what Wyndam wants! Now fucking untie me!"

"Not until you understand. You need to see what he's doing to you. Listen to me," Carl grabbed the arms of the chair and leaned in, his face inches from Mitchell. "He's making you into what you never wanted to be! Can't you see that?"

Mitchell smiled at him. "You're the one who won't understand." His smile deepened. "This is exactly what I want to be."

Carl pushed away and turned his back on Mitchell, cursing softly. Raking his fingers through his hair, he searched for the words that would reach Mitchell. They'd been at this most of the day, and still Mitchell wouldn't listen. He heard another chuckle.

"How many times," Carl tried a different approach, "have you told me about the lives you took, the possibilities you extinguished? When you were sober, how much did it haunt you to think of what those lives could have been, or done, or created, but for you killing them?"

Mitchell didn't answer, but Carl saw the tightening of his jaw.

"Come on, don't be shy now!" Carl's tone was mocking now. "Let's see. Was it Liam, who might have united all of Ireland? Or Charles that might have prevented War World II. Or Susie curing cancer. Or Amy inventing the flying car!" Carl grabbed the chair arms and loomed over Mitchell. "Jesus, Mitchell, how many times did you agonize over what might have been?"

"Doesn't matter," Mitchell said quietly. "That's not who I am anymore. The more damage I did, the better. I get that now."

"Really? You think its better that the people you killed are dead, as opposed to the one's you didn't kill? What about the men in your unit from the war? You saved them from Herrick. Was that wrong? Or the people who survived because you got the Bristol vampires off blood? What about the ones still alive because you were ten plus years sober?"

"Just a chance for them to produce more food for us." Mitchell smiled, returning Carl's stare.

"That's Wyndam talking. Would Annie have just been food? For you? For Herrick? What about for Seth?"

Mitchell looked away.

"Mmmm, Seth feeding on Annie," Carl said it slowly. "That would have been interesting." Mitchell glared at him. "He'd probably have played with her a bit first, you know how Seth was," Carl shrugged.

"Shut up."

"Why? If she was only food, what matter who killed her?" Carl slowly paced in front of Mitchell. "Think Wyndam would have enjoyed drinking her life away?"

"Get away from me."

"I bet Wyndam would have loved Annie – in his own special way, of course. Or maybe he'd have given her to Hetty. We all know what Hetty does to her toys."

"This won't work, Carl," Mitchell shook his head. "Nothing will work. Now, you've had your fun, let me go." Mitchell's voice was low and threatening.

"Maybe he'd have turned her over to Thomas – now that would've been interesting. A nice naïve girl like Annie, up in that cold castle with Thomas." Carl heard the hiss from Mitchell. "She'd probably have survived, for a while."

"Shut up." The whisper was laced with hatred.

"And what," Carl walked around behind Mitchell, "would Wyndam have done with George? I can see it now, George in a nice metal collar, chained outside like the dog he is." Carl leaned in from behind Mitchell, whispering into his ear. "Or maybe one of those experiments of Wyndam's. You know, the ones we only whisper about."

"Shut up!" Mitchell shouted, struggling against the ropes.

"I bet Wyndam would've found a way to -"

"Shut the fuck up!" Mitchell struggled against the ropes. "You bastard! I'm gonna rip your head off! Let me out of here!"

Carl suddenly grabbed the chair and swung it around, leaning in close to Mitchell.

"So they do matter! Admit it!" he yelled into Mitchell's face.

"NO!"

"Annie matters!"

"NO!"

"She'd have been food for Seth!"

"Shut up!" Mitchell snarled, his fangs extending.

"A play thing for Wyndam!"

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

"And George chained outside, experimented on!" Carl shouted.

Mitchell froze, and then suddenly sat back in the chair. His fangs retracted, and he stared silently at Carl. Carl's chest was heaving as he glared at Mitchell, willing him to see.

"Shut up," Mitchell whispered, lowering his head.

"Is that what you want for them?" Carl shouted. "Is -" he stopped as Mitchell raised his head, face contorted in pain and sorrow. His eyes were brown, not blue! "Mitchell!" Carl knelt down again. "Thank God! I knew you were still here! Fight, Mitchell! Fight Wyndam!"

"Just kill me," Mitchell cried quietly. "Just kill me, or go away. I'm not worth this. Run. I won't come after you. Just get out of here."

"I can't do that, my friend," Carl grabbed Mitchell's arm. "I can help you find your way back."

Mitchell slowly shook his head. His shoulders dropped and his eyes closed.

"Yes, we can do this," Carl pressed on. "I know we can. There is a way back."

Mitchell flinched and doubled over. Carl heard him grunt and hiss, as though in pain.

"Mitchell? It's okay. I promise, however long it takes, I'll help you find your way back."

Mitchell took a deep breath, and sat up straight. Raising his head, his eyes were closed but he was smiling. Carl smiled, too, until Mitchell looked at him.

"I'm not lost," Mitchell whispered, eyes once again ice blue.

oooooooooo


	13. Chapter 13

_pactum cum Diabolo_

* * *

><p>"Damn it! I'm trying to save your life!" Carl exploded, rounding on Mitchell. Fingers curled into fists, he charged forward, hissing with frustration. They'd been at this most of the night, but still Mitchell resisted.<p>

"Now who's being what they never wanted?" Mitchell raised his chin and laughed. "Carl - the lover of peace and friendship and all things rosy," he mocked, "ready to beat the shit out of me. Yeah, you're nothing but a fucking hypocrite, just like them!"

Carl froze, his arm raised and ready to strike. Mitchell was right. This would get him nowhere – just another vampire trying to force Mitchell to do something.

"Go ahead!" Mitchell yelled. "Just fucking stake me and be done with it, you bastard!"

Carl stepped away from his friend. _Forcing him won't work. What will? What the hell will get him to want to…no - what will make him __**choose**__ to not be this? What will make him __**choose**__ to go through what he has to? What does he care about? What would make him choose - _

Carl stumbled, the answer so clear it almost buckled his knees. _Would that work? It did in Bristol._ _But did he dare?_ Abruptly, Carl turned and ran from the room, ignoring Mitchell's shouted curses. A decision had to be made. He already knew what George would say, so there was no point discussing it with him. The real question loomed - was Mitchell worth risking it all?

Carl took the stairs two at a time and threw open the door to the kitchen. Ignoring the startled looks from the two vampires sat at the table, he hurried through the kitchen and past the living room.

"Carl?" George called out. "You okay?"

"Fine," he continued toward the stairs.

"How's Mitchell? What's wrong?" George started after Carl.

"Not now, George," Carl started up the stairs to the first floor. "I just need to sort something." Sprinting up the stairs to his room, Carl slammed the door behind him. Pacing for several moments, he finally slumped into the chair by the window and pulled his mobile from his pocket. Scrolling through the contacts, he stopped at one.

_How can I risk everyone?_ What right did he have to make this decision? If this was The War, if the Old Ones were making their move, did he have a choice? _I should talk to the others. But how? They'd never reach a decision, the debate would rage for weeks. There isn't time for that. Wyndam will find us, soon, and then…_

Staring out the window into the darkness, he watched the lightning flash across the sky. A low rumble of thunder followed, the storm starting to close in. He considered those in Dublin. They would vote no, he was certain. Cork would probably agree, as would Galway. Belfast would say no, or more appropriately, hell no. Bristol – he couldn't even tell Bristol. Edinburgh, yes. Glasgow, likely yes. Cardiff, no. All of Europe would vote no, too removed from the immediate threat. The Americas might join in, but the threat hadn't reached their shores yet, so perhaps not.

One by one, he considered their likely responses. The majority would not agree, choosing instead to fight small skirmishes in their territory. That meant thousands more would die, and they'd still lose The War. The Old Ones would reign with terror and death. At least his idea, if successful, was a way to win the war quickly. If his gamble lost, they would still lose the war, just more quickly. Was it worth it? Could he risk them all? _Damn._

He had to make this decision. Alone. Slowly he lowered the mobile.

He'd need a backup plan, to prevent them falling into Wyndam's hands. That couldn't happen. _George._

oooooo

"Why did Wyndam choose you?" Carl sat in the chair opposite Mitchell, a mug of hot tea in his hand.

"How about some of that?" Mitchell motioned to the tea.

"Sure." Carl held the cup while Mitchell took a sip.

"Gah, that's awful!" Mitchell protested. "Can't you at least put some sugar in it?"

"Why? Why did Wyndam choose you?"

"Tell you what. You untie me, and we'll talk and you can play Freud all you want."

Carl smiled. "Seriously, Mitchell. Think about it. Out of the thousands of us, all over the world, why you? You weren't a stand out anymore. Maybe once, when Herrick had his claws into you, but now? No," Carl shook his head. "There had to be something else, something he's not told you. Why you?"

"Who the fuck cares?" Mitchell shouted.

"You should. Last time you didn't ask that question, you woke up a monster, in the company of monsters." Carl smiled again. "I'd think you learned _something_ over the years."

"What I've learned," Mitchell leaned forward, "is that I am a monster. And always will be. There is nothing you, or I, can do to change that. So let me go, and we'll get back to business."

"I know why he chose you."

"I don't care."

"He chose you for the same reason he chose me. And Lawrence."

Silence.

"Wyndam does nothing random, or by chance. Every act has a purpose, a motive. It's what makes him so dangerous."

More silence. Carl stared at Mitchell for a few moments, then shrugged and stood up.

"I'd suggest you think about it." Carl headed for the door.

"I already have," Mitchell whispered. Carl spun around and hurried back to his seat.

"What?"

"I have thought about it, and know why," Mitchell's voice was tired. "It doesn't really matter, though, does it?"

"It might. Tell me."

"Because I'm a failure. A prime example to others. Don't fight what you are - because you can't, you'll fail, over and over. Don't fight the Old Ones, you'll fail - they're too powerful. Don't go it alone – you'll fail. Everything I tried, every step I took, resulted in more chaos and destruction for those I was trying to protect. Any young ones thinking of something different will see that, and fall in line. Especially when he uses me to force them into line. As it should be." Mitchell took a deep breath. "It's politics. And he's really good at it."

"Interesting theory. So by showing that you can't resist being the monster, can't resist the Old Ones, you'll help keep others in line? Possible, but not Wyndam's true purpose."

"You think you know about him? Why he offered me a place in his family? Go ahead, then, enlighten me!"

Carl smiled at the sarcasm.

"Interesting choice of word there. His family. You actually got that part right."

"What the fuck are you on about? Enough, Carl," Mitchell struggled against the restraints. "Enough of this bullshit! Let me go!"

"You are his family. Literally."

Mitchell stilled, and his eyes widened. Carl nodded.

"That's right. You are family, of his bloodline."

"Oh for fuck's sake! Will you quit the bullshit! Even I know he was turned before he married and had any family."

"I didn't say legitimate blood line. You're of his bastard son's line. To him, that makes you his son. Many generations removed, but still his son."

Mitchell stared at him before laughing out loud.

"Oh that's too precious. Bastard line, yeah, right. What kind of eejit do you think I am? Enough of this bullshit, Carl. I'm done playing games with you."

"I'm not lying, Mitchell. I've never lied to you. You are of his direct line," Carl pulled his chair closer to Mitchell. "What the legends don't tell you is that he had an…indiscretion, at this sister's wedding to an Irish clan leader. It was on his way home from that wedding that he was turned. He didn't know until years later that he had a son. And he's spent every year since watching over 'his line'. When he finds a descendent that he thinks will excel at being this, he turns them, and makes them a protégé."

"I don't believe you."

"You already know Lawrence – his great grandmother back 8 generations or so was the bastard son's daughter. I think that's the right number of generations. He was made by Wyndam in the mid-1600's, and bound to Wyndam almost immediately. He's also Wyndam's first protégé since the war among the Old Ones ended. Then there was Máire. Turned in the late 1700's by Lawrence, at Wyndam's order. She was of another couple generations down the line. Wyndam planned to make her a protégé, but wound up having to sacrifice her to keep peace among the Old Ones. She was ended by her lover, at Wyndam's order. Now there is you."

Mitchell was shaking his head. "That is a great story, Carl. You should write fiction novels!"

"It's truth, Mitchell."

"Oh yeah? Where do you fit in, then? Huh? Cuz Wyndam is hell bent on getting hold of you again. So are you one of his long lost bastards?"

"No," Carl shook his head. "Not that I can find. The only reference I find in my history is to someone that may have been a descendant of his sister. So at best, I'm related, but not of Wyndam's direct line." Carl smiled. "And I've pissed him off but good."

"So you think Wyndam is interested in me, simply because I'm part of his bloodline? That's crap, and you know it. That kind of shit doesn't matter to us anymore. We're of our maker's line, and that's all."

"Think about it. You've already got the predisposition to be drawn into his blood – it originates from him. So the binding will be stronger. And if it's him, you and Lawrence - that's a shit load of power running the Old Ones. He controls everything. He is unstoppable."

Carl paused, letting his words sink in. He held his breath, watching the emotions dart across Mitchell's face. Disbelief turned to confusion, then disbelief again as Mitchell shook his head. A consideration of the possibility. A review of everything Wyndam had said and done over the past few weeks. Shock. And finally, understanding. Mitchell raised his eyes to Carl, blue-brown eyes filled with the pain of betrayal.

"I know, Mitchell. He promised so much. But it was only ever about his power. That's all that matters to him. Everything else was a lie." Carl resisted the urge to offer Mitchell an apology.

Mitchell was silent, but Carl saw the struggle continue in him. After several long moments, Mitchell took a deep breath.

"And now it doesn't matter," was his emotionless statement.

"What?"

"It doesn't matter anymore. I am what he's made me. I belong to him now. There's nothing I can do about it. And there's nothing you can do about it. So let's end this, and get on with what has to be done."

"There **is** something, Mitchell! You can decide whose legacy you want to follow, his or yours?"

"What does that mean?"

"You really don't know what impact you've had, do you?"

"Sure I do – I've destroyed more lives than I can count, ruined more families, betrayed more friends – I've been just what he's wanted me to be all along. "

"No, you haven't. Another question - why do you think Wyndam hated Herrick so much?"

"Because Herrick was weak, letting me experiment and play at being human."

"No. He hated Herrick because Herrick turned you without permission. Wyndam wanted you to get a taste for killing on the battlefield. He wouldn't have turned you until the end of the War, when he could manipulate the chaos inside of you that the war created. Instead, he's had to mop up where Herrick did a bad job of mentoring you."

Mitchell said nothing.

"He almost ended Herrick for making you. But he also saw how much you depended on Herrick. It was only after you started to pull away on your own that Wyndam made his presence known to you. Think about it. It wasn't until you and Herrick returned from the Continent after World War II that Wyndam showed up. Just at the time that you were thinking of leaving Herrick. That wasn't a coincidence. Wyndam has manipulated you for decades."

"So what if he has," Mitchell whispered. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yes, it does. And I can prove it to you."

"Oh yeah? How? Starve me, threaten me, keep me locked up here for the next couple hundred years?" Mitchell spat. "You're just like he is – force is all you know. Hell, maybe you are of his blood line."

"No, not force. A deal. I'll make you a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"Give me two days. Be open-minded, and I'll show you the legacy you can have. The legacy you've already started. And it will be yours. No one else's. Then you decide."

"Yeah, and if I decide to follow Wyndam, you'll kill me, right?" Mitchell snorted. "Some deal."

"Absolutely not. If you decide to follow Wyndam, I'll surrender to you, turn over George and Nina, and never fight against you again."

Mitchell's eyes shot to Carl. Carl nodded.

"All in. If I can't convince you, you win. Wyndam wins. The Old Ones take over the world."

"What's the catch."

"You honestly look at what I show you. Really consider what you want from this life. And if you decide to choose humanity, you fight with me. With us. To destroy Wyndam and the others."

"Black and white, eh?"

"Yes. No middle ground. Us, or them."

"And you'll abide by whatever I choose?"

"Yes."

"What guarantee do I have?"

"My word. And the knowledge that the last place I take you will have three things waiting for you: this address, where Padraig will be waiting with George; Nina's location; and a mobile with which you can call Wyndam."

Carl held his breath while Mitchell considered the offer. If this failed, they were all lost. He hoped he knew his friend as well as he thought he did.

Mitchell finally nodded. "Two days. You've got two days."

ooooooo


End file.
